The Last Order
by Seven Drunken Irish Girls
Summary: A commanding officer's step by step guide to letting your pride and lack of experience destroy your home.
1. An Extraneous Use of Energy

_**The Last Order**_

_-seventhe and irishais-_

_Chapter 1: An Extraneous Use of Energy_

The class was Advanced Junctioning, but to Quistis Trepe, it felt like she was back teaching Wilderness Survival. The air conditioning had finally given out three days ago, and the temperatures within Garden had risen from "near sweltering" to "hotter than Ifrit's backside". The staff's attempt at air circulation - opening up every possible window - had been rendered moot; summer in Balamb tended to hit a steady eighty degrees without much of a breeze.

"It's too hot in here," a student complained as Quistis finished putting the final touches on a particularly elaborate diagram of how not to junction things like Tiamat and asked if there were any questions. The Instructor pushed back a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear and had to agree, but there wasn't much that she could do about it short of summoning Shiva (and that had been deemed an extraneous use of energy a week and a half ago).

She glanced over her class. Most had given up on the crisp cadet uniforms and were sitting half-slumped and fanning themselves with hastily-made paper fans, something she would have normally docked privileges and given detentions for - but she was starting to empathize with them. Besides, she had already made a fan of her own out of Squall's latest emergency protocol memo, although wild chocobos couldn't drag that secret out of her. The fan was currently hidden in her desk drawer, right behind the second and third bottles of cold water she had grabbed from the caf that morning.

The lights flickered, and Quistis gave up as her carefully planned lecture disappeared from her computer screen. "Quiz tomorrow," she called as her class gathered up their things and headed for the door gratefully. The power surge had stalled it out, and it took an additional ten minutes and three cadets using brute force to get it open. Quistis contemplated just jumping out the window, but gave up on that idea when a weak breeze, warm and humid from Balamb's coast, hit her face. Things weren't any better outside.

Hyne, she needed coffee.

Unfortunately, there was only one place she could get coffee, and right now she was too hot and tired to deal with its keeper. Coffee-makers had been deemed another extraneous use of energy about two weeks ago, and at this point Quistis wished she'd had the guts to keep her own rather than surrendering it to the Garden Faculty like she had. Granted, she hadn't thought any of the electrical problems would've lasted this long. None of them had. Everyone at Balamb had been ridiculously optimistic when things on Garden itself started failing: nobody had actually thought these problems would be serious, let alone permanent.

Sadly, they'd only gotten worse. The repairs Zell and some of his mech-headed friends had attempted lasted for a while, but even Zell couldn't build a new air conditioner that ran on nothing. Balamb Garden was dying, its Centran-built innards slowly giving up the ghost like the long last march of some huge mechanical Tonberry. If only -

Quistis shook her head sharply and turned her thoughts away from that route. Her own brain was dying here, without sweet caffeine to grease up its precious neural pathways. She sighed and stood up from her chair, wincing as her shirt stuck to her sweaty neck. She was probably the only one left in here wearing full SeeD regalia.

She gathered her notes together and switched off her terminal in case the power decided to come back that afternoon. The other student terminals had been one of the first things to be deemed an "unnecessary use of power"; they'd been disconnected for almost a month, and the students hadn't paid attention since. She briskly stacked the notes next to the computer, stole a long sip of water from one of the secret water bottles, and then headed out in search of coffee after eyeing her now-broken door with distaste. Ah, well, if anyone wanted to steal a Garden terminal in this heat, they were welcome to it.

She weaved her way through the halls. Cadets all around her milled about the public areas, happy to get out of the stifling dorm rooms for even a few moments. All were armed; the Training Center had failed about nine days ago, and Squall had ordered that all cadets be prepared for escaping monsters. It would've made for a fearsome sight, except that the cadets themselves were slouching around in t-shirts and shorts. Quistis spotted a small group of girls in almost-indecent tank tops and tiny little shorts, and sighed. On any normal day she would've written them up for a uniform violation. Today, she walked right past.

She came to the small door at the end of the hall and knocked three times.

"What?" barked a sharp voice from inside.

Quistis looked subtly over her shoulder to ensure the coast was clear. "Coffee," she said shortly.

The door opened, and Seifer slouched against the doorframe. "I should've known it was you, Trepe."

Quistis refrained from rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I wish there'd been someone else in here who kept their coffee-maker."

"You're all a bunch of rule-following losers," Seifer pointed out. "What do you have for me this time?"

Quistis sighed, loudly, and reached into her pocket. She pulled out four Dragon Fangs, one Malboro Tentacle, and a Star Fragment. "It was the best stuff I could get out of the storeroom."

Seifer looked it over, his eyes narrowing. "No more Adamantium?"

"I told you last week, Seifer. They tried to use it in the air conditioning system. It's all gone."

Seifer eyed the collection of items for another minute. Quistis was getting fidgety; they were in the middle of the hall, really, and she was standing there with a collection of purloined items for all to see, bartering for illegal coffee and - "Hyne," she spat out, finally. "I'll pass your SeeD final if you just let me in there to get some coffee!"

Seifer smirked up at her, swiping the items out of her hand and gesturing grandly. "All yours, madam," he said, managing to actually put the sneer into his voice.

Quistis just rolled her eyes and shoved past him into the tiny kitchenette. "Where is it?" she demanded, pulling open cabinets and drawers. He'd changed his hiding spot, she discovered, and was about to storm into his bedroom and start tearing things apart in there, when Seifer suddenly loomed over her, pulling down the precious item from its spot on top of the refrigerator.

"Need new glasses, Trepe?" She glared at him as she plunked a clean filter into the coffee maker, adding a liberal amount of grounds, and reminding herself that dumping the pot of water on him would just make more work for her. She filled the reservoir instead. They stood in silence as the coffeemaker bubbled to life.

"They should just tear this place down and be done with it," Seifer commented under his breath as the temperature in the room rose with the heat being given off by the coffeemaker.

"Shut up. Cid's got some ideas. We'll be fine." She stared at the pot, willing it to fill faster - she had already snagged the cleaner of Seifer's two coffee mugs and was drumming her fingers against the ceramic impatiently.

"Cid's got nothing." Seifer snorted. "The man's never here, anyway. Although that might explain it," he added thoughfully. "Nobody expected Puberty Boy to be good at anything other than sucking at life. No wonder BG's falling apart."

Quistis hissed. "Squall is an excellent commander," she said, her voice a little defensive. "His decisions have been in Garden's best interests. All we need is time."

"You need rehab," Seifer informed her. "And a reality check. This heap isn't going to keep going for much longer -- Cid and Squall have no idea what they're doing. I can't believe you haven't figured that out by now. They've got Zell fixing the heating system, of all people."

"They're working on --hey, what the hell are you doing?"

He glanced at her, his lips curved in a smirk, while he filled the other mug. "What the hell's it look like?"

"That's my coffee..."

"You paid for your cup," Seifer replied, still smirking, as he put the pot back on the burner. The coffeepot grumbled a bit, but kicked itself out of stand-by and grudgingly continued to brew.

"Yes," Quistis said acidly, "but when you steal it from the bottom you take all of the taste."

Seifer grinned. "I know." He made a great show of adding creamer. "That's why I did it."

Quistis regally bit her lip and refrained from tossing her mug at him. If she broke it, she'd be forced to drink directly from the pot - or from one of the filthy milk glasses still in Seifer's sink. "Hyne, Seifer," she said absently, "don't you ever wash dishes?"

"Extraneous use of energy," Seifer quipped as he threw himself down into a chair. "Like every other thing in this flying piece of junk."

"This place is not junk. Although your kitchen certainly qualifies." She filled her mug slowly, relishing almost every drop as it poured from the decanter. Hyne, she missed coffee. Whomever had decided that kitchen supplies were an extraneous use of energy was obviously mistaken in their priorities.

He rolled his eyes at her and took up residence on the counter. Quistis didn't even want to think about what new colonies of germs he was sitting on. "Low, Trepe."

"Yes, well," she said with a prim smirk, "I've already got my coffee."

Seifer opened his mouth for a particularly witty insult, and the lone emergency light in his room flickered and died. A few seconds later, the generators that had hummed below their feet with a weary sense of desperation finally gave out.

Garden went dark and silent.

"Told you," Seifer said as Quistis drained the rest of her coffee (because Hyne be damned if she was going to waste it), and headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

She gave him one of her patented Trepe looks--the one designed to make the average cadet feel like they were under a microscope. Seifer just stared back at her, and Quistis turned on her heel, leaving the room with a sigh of disgust.

_xx_

Squall ran Lionheart straight through a Grat, and tried to muster up the energy to care when Quistis finally showed, Save the Queen loosely wrapped in her hand.

"So," she said, snapping the whip with her usual cold efficiency, "the Training Center's out for good this time, huh?"

Squall simply turned, heading towards the makeshift barricade that had taken over the entrance to the Training Center - the barricade that had just drained the last of their power, and then failed. "Out for another illegal coffee run?"

"No!" Quistis said hastily, shaking her head in what she hoped was a convincing manner. "Never, sir."

"It's okay," Squall said, swinging Lionheart again as another rampant Grat came around the corner: "Doesn't matter much, now."

Quistis caught an escaping Bite Bug with an expert snap of her whip, exploding the creature into dust. "Think this is it?"

"This has been it for a while." Squall eyed the makeshift barrier with disgust. "We've just been hanging on."

"Right. _Sir_." She didn't bother to cover up the distaste with which she said his title, although she reserved it for when Squall had his back turned.

"Where the hell is Almasy?" he demanded instead, bringing down another Bug just before it assaulted a wayward group of cadets. He turned and gave the cadets a surprising glare which wouldn't have been out of place on Quistis' own face. "Get back to your dorms!"

The cadets scattered, and Quistis slid around the barrier, Squall close behind her. The heat practically radiated from every surface, and sweat broke out on her face. She could hear the Rexaurs not far away, and strode in the direction of their roars.

"Hold on." Squall held up a gloved hand - _how in the hell was he still wearing leather in this heat?_ Quistis thought wildly - to stop her. "Are you prepared?"

Quistis shot him a look over her glasses which obviously read, _of course I'm prepared, I'm Quistis Trepe_. Then a thought hit her. "Squall, what if we - let's make this easy."

Squall gave her a quizzical look right as the Aura spell hit him between the eyes. "Sorry," said Quistis, who was not sorry at all. She hit herself with the same spell a second later and sighed as she felt her adrenaline levels spike.

"That's an -"

"-extraneous use of energy?" Quistis snapped, losing a hold on her temper for a second. "Squ- _Sir_," she amended, "if we do this without Limit Breaks, it'll take forever."

Squall paused, but he couldn't exactly argue with her logic; no one could ever really argue with Quistis Logic, except maybe Almasy, who argued more on principle than logic anyway.

"We're doing the things a favor," Squall muttered as they crept closer to the Rexaurs. "At least they don't have to put up with the heat."

_xx_

Several hours later, they sat outside in the courtyard, clothing sticking to their skins and in a generally irritable mood. Quistis glared at the fountain, which refused to turn on.

"Now what?" Xu said, never one to pay a whole lot of attention to tactful negotiation. Squall shrugged. He was thinking that he was getting pretty fluent in Shrug. There were a million problems, and he had no solutions for any of them.

Garden was dead, as it were. Pretty much none of its residents were even inside, all outdoors to escape the stifling stale air. It didn't help that there were still about sixteen Grats wandering around, free as...well. Grats. He gave up on alliterations and pulled up a handful of dying grass from the ground just to let it slide back out through his fingers.

"What about the cadets?" Quistis asked, watching some of her students wander. "They've got nowhere to go."

"We'll have to go to the Garden Council again," Squall said, shrugging again because he really had nothing else to add.

"They rejected us flat-out last time," Quistis reminded him. "There were still repairs to be made to Trabia - and Galbadia, for that matter, and-"

"I know." Squall cut her off. "But this time, BG's dead."

It was the first time any of them had really said it out loud, and they all paused to reflect on it. Quistis opened her mouth - there were a hundred things she could say, and none of them would fix the situation. It hadn't been anyone's fault, really - it was the political climate, mixed with a couple poor decisions that would probably haunt their makers for a while.

"They wouldn't dare reject their own," Xu added in what was probably meant to be an affirming tone. To both Squall and Quistis, it still sounded like a threat - like much of what Xu said. "They wouldn't let these students go homeless."

"Let's hope," Quistis muttered, as her eyes breezed over the students sprawled on the grass and landed on the plume of smoke spiraling lazily out of Balamb Garden's frame.

She tried to ignore Squall's quiet snort of disbelief.

* * *

Like it? Hate it? Just want free beer? Feedback makes us do the wacky.

-Sev and irishais


	2. Beer and the Meaning of Life

_  
Chapter 2: Beer and the Meaning of Life_

Selphie Tilmitt stepped out of the car, her sandals smacking against the concrete. A wave of heat assaulted her as she stood, and sweat beaded out on her brow. The parking garage currently bore an uncanny resemblance to an oven that someone had forgotten to shut off. Selphie sighed. This wasn't good at all.

"Hey, Selphie." Squall held the door open for her as she came into the hallway, which wasn't much cooler than the garage had been. "Thanks for coming."

Selphie nodded. "Yeah, no problem. Looks like you guys aren't doing so well."

Squall shrugged, and Selphie could tell by the way that his shoulders rose and fell that he'd been doing that particular action a lot lately.

"Has Irvine shown up yet?" she asked as Squall led her down the blistering hallway. They hung a right, and ended up back in the Quad. The commander pushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his face and dropped onto one of a very few empty benches.

"He's on his way, last I heard. Communication hasn't exactly been...stable." He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Phew!" Selphie sighed, squinting upwards. "You guys got it pretty rough!" She grinned at Squall. "Man, after Trabia, this is -- a super mega heat wave! I feel like I should be in a bathing suit!"

Squall said nothing, but Selphie could tell from the shrug that he felt the same way. Or that he was sick of her questions. Or that he wanted to see her in a bathing suit. Or, again, not. Selphie grinned again. She was no better at reading Squall than she'd been when she left.

"So." She scooted around to sit on the bench beside him - not too close; it was about three thousand degrees in the Quad. "What's this official SeeD meeting about, Mister Sir Commander, sir?"

"Don't call me Sir," Squall replied faintly. _It reminds me of Laguna_, he did not say aloud.

"Right-o," Selphie replied smartly. "So what's up?" She paused for a moment. "And hey! Where's everybody else?"

Squall's eyes were shut and he seemed to be either nauseous or tired. Possibly both. "Quistis and Xu are in the library, doing paperwork. Zell is downstairs, playing with Garden's innards. Rinoa is... probably still asleep." He grimaced. "And Seifer is -- alright, I have no idea where Seifer is."

_xx_

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Seifer flicked his eyes up from the pages of the latest _Weapons Monthly_, and then just as quickly returned his attention to the magazine and the cold drink in front of him. The gesture didn't matter much; he'd acquired a massive pair of sunglasses that effectively blocked out about half of his face. "Reading. You haven't suddenly become blind, have you, Kinneas?"

"Didn't know you could read. Bit of a shock to my brain, realizin' you might not be as goddamn stupid as I thought you were." Irvine stepped over the ex-knight, who was currently sprawled out in a brightly colored lounge chair that Seifer had acquired from Hyne knew where. The chair had been positioned in such a way that it effectively blocked off passage through the main security gates. Hyperion was tucked neatly by Seifer's side, glinting in the bright daylight. Irvine groaned -- things must be getting pretty bad if Seifer was being used as a security guard. "You know where Squall is?" he demanded finally.

Seifer shrugged. "Who the fuck cares?"

Irvine turned away and stopped short when he realized the security gates weren't opening. He glared back at Seifer, who flipped to the next page.

"Power's out. Looks like you're going to have to climb." The words were said with great relish, and Irvine muttered a few choice words of his own as he chucked his bag to the other side and clambered over the short barrier after it.

Garden was deserted on the inside, apparently; Irvine sauntered slowly through the empty halls, noting the uncomfortable heat. One of the walls he passed was covered in hefty scratches, as if something had gotten out of the TC; there was a long slash down the middle that he recognized as the aftermath of one of Squall's Limits.

"Squall has horrible aim."

Apparently Almasy had followed him. "Aren't you supposed to be, y'know, guardin' Garden?" Irvine asked. He noted the other man had taken Hyperion with him.

Seifer grinned. "I like watching you annoy the hell out of Leonhart," he replied.

Irvine turned away and continued through the halls. As they came onto the Quad, there was a familiar high-pitched squeal, and Irvine found himself suddenly assaulted by a brightly-colored, Selphie-shaped missile.

"Irvy!" She wrapped her arms around his waist and _squeezed_. "I missed you!"

"Missed you too, darlin'," he replied, smiling and dropping a quick kiss on top of her head. Selphie grinned up at him cutely, and Irvine watched as her eyes narrowed mischeviously.

"And Seifer-poo!" Selphie squealed again. This was a completely different squeal, and Irvine noticed the smirk on her face before she barreled into Seifer much as she'd assaulted him -- only meaning it, this time.

"Oof!" Seifer grunted, poking at her with Hyperion's hilt. "Hyne, Tilmitt, you've gained weight."

Selphie punched him hard in the shoulder, and Seifer grimaced, rubbing the spot where her fist had made contact. "If that bruises, I get to kill you," he informed her, and Selphie just stuck her tongue out at him. "Real mature."

"What_ever_," Selphie said with a great show of rolled eyes. "C'mon, Irvy. Squall and the others are in the Quad. We've been waiting for you."

"What am I? Chopped Snow Lion?" Seifer demanded.

Selphie tucked her arm in Irvine's and skipped off. "Pretty much!"

_xx_

Squall chucked the empty water bottle toward the trashcan. "Into" would have been the preferred option, but he found that basically sweating to death kind of meant he didn't really care anymore. The plastic bottle bounced off the edge of the can and skittered into the grass.

"I stand corrected. Your aim _really _sucks," Seifer commented, stabbing the bottle with Hyperion's tip and dropping it into the can.

"Just...go play garbage man somewhere else, Almasy."

"Oh, hell no. I want to see what your next heroic idea is."

"We're having a pre-Council meeting," Squall said. He sat up slowly, swinging his legs off of the bench and planting them firmly on the ground. His leather pants had sweated his ass to the seat, but damned if he was going to let Almasy pick up on that. "You're not invited."

"Which means it'll just be another cock-up." Seifer tapped Hyperion on his shoulder and smirked. "You should let me come."

"In your dreams," Selphie said with a mockingly cheerful grin. "I'm Trabia, Irvy's Galbadia - what Garden would you represent? The Garden of people who are total losers?"

"The Garden of people who know what they're doing," Seifer pointed out.

"Get back on guard," Squall said instead. "Selphie, Irvine, come with me."

"I hope you've got an air-conditioned room," Irvine drawled. "Or that the meeting's in a bar."

Squall blinked - but then again, why the hell not? "AC's out," he said, shrugging in a way that said decisively: _I need a beer. _

_xx_

"Basically," Quistis finished, "we're broke."

Selphie looked to Squall for confirmation, who shrugged and stared intently into his mug. The Commander seemed to be idly watching the condensation drip down the sides of the glass and onto the table. After her brief but very warm stay in Balamb Garden itself, Selphie couldn't exactly make fun of Squall's sudden fascination with anything and everything _cold_.

"So, all we have to do is convince the council to fund Garden enough to get the basics running, right?" Irvine asked, leaning back in his seat and tapping his empty beer bottle against the table.

"Not so easy," Xu cut in. "They've denied us three times already."

Irvine looked contemplative as the group lapsed into silence. Even Seifer didn't have a snide comment to make. He probably had used them all to convince one of the other cadets to take over his security shift. Abruptly, the door to Wendigo's burst open, and Rinoa Heartilly sailed in.

Squall slumped lower in his seat.

"Hi," she said, dropping into a chair that was as far away from Squall as she could get and still be at the same table. She ignored Selphie's confused look.

"Hey, Rinoa." Irvine greeted her with a grin and a wink. "Where've you been?"

"Umm..." Rinoa smiled sheepishly. "Around?" No one missed the glare Squall was currently giving the table.

Seifer waited, expertly, until the silence had become just long enough to be awkward. "She's over at the Inn at the Balamb Bounty," he said finally, with relish. "She can't live without her precious AC."

Rinoa huffed. "When was the last time you had a shower, Seifer?"

There was a long period of silence and the grating sound of a few chairs moving away from a certain gunblader.

"Anyway," Quistis said, rapping her drink on the table for silence. It was a vodka-and-tonic, so that nobody could really tell how much was tonic (not much) and how much was vodka (the rest). "I need to prepare our budget quotation for tomorrow, so I need to know what to ask for. Selphie, Irvine, what are things like where you are?"

Selphie shrugged. "Trabia's almost up and running at this point."

"Galbadia just got an entire system upgrade," Irvine added with a scowl. "If I'd known how bad it was 'round here - course, I guess there weren't too much I could've done. Gotta be SeeD to make a funding request."

"Martine's an asshole." Seifer glanced around the table to meet several stony pairs of eyes. "What? Everyone knows it."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence," Irvine said, throwing Seifer a saucy wink.

"Let's not go sucking each other's dicks yet, cowboy."

Xu sighed, loudly. "Can we get back to the point here?" She edged the stack of papers in front of her with one finger until they were perfectly aligned.

"I'm in no hurry to get back to the Heat Machine," Seifer pointed out.

"Seifer, please shut up." Squall glared even harder at his mug.

Rinoa studiously examined her fingernails as she spoke carefully. "Squall, couldn't you...give Irvine his SeeD certification?"

To everyone's surprise, Squall answered Rinoa. "Can't," he said bluntly, shaking his head. "Not his Commander."

"But," Rinoa protested, "I thought he was still under your orders because of that - you know, that thingy-"

Quistis cut in smoothly before Squall's glower got any worse. "Irvine's still contracted out under Squall on the sniper contract," she explained. "However, he's a Galbadian cadet. He hasn't been transferred to Balamb, like Selphie did for her exam." She paused, glancing at Irvine. "Until that happens, Irvine is dependent on Galbadia to grant his SeeDship."

Irvine shrugged awkwardly. "C'mon, guys, it's not a big deal. Let's focus on, y'know, the more important stuff - like, what to do with BG."

"Hey!" The door swung open, banging harshly against the wall. Zell grinned. "Sorry I'm late, guys, shit blew up." His face was smeared with what looked suspiciously like oil, and his white t-shirt was covered in faint black dust.

"Should I make fun of you for being late, or for being dirty?" Seifer appeared to be deep in thought. "Nah," he said finally, "I'll stick to your hair."

"Shaddup." Zell jogged over to the table, signaling to the bartender for a beer. "So, we salvaged what we could from the AC and from that flyin' mechanism. Don't look too good, though."

His beer arrived, and he took a long chug; Xu poked him in the shoulder, trying to get him to continue. Wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand, Zell set down the beer with great reluctance.

"We're totally screwed," he pronounced. "Uh, unless we can get a whole new central air system put in. Pretty much everythin' else is toast. Fried. Electrocuted. Zapped by Quezacoatl. Buggered by-"

"We gathered," Squall said dryly.

"Uh, okay, well...I mean, there's not a whole lot that we can do, y'know? The generator's not a complete piece of shit, but it's mostly shit, an' it'll take a lot of elbow grease--"

"And duct tape," Seifer interjected under his breath. Zell glared at him; the latest "fix" had literally involved a roll of tape, three hundred feet of extension cords, and an outdoor outlet on the Balamb gas station.

"Is there a cost estimate?" Quistis asked, steering the conversation back on track with a pointed glare at Seifer. He rolled his eyes.

Zell scratched at the back of his neck. "I dunno. It's gonna cost a lot. Seriously, we're just gonna need a lot of new stuff. That Adamantium shit we tried ripped through a lot of the wiring. It's too fuckin' heavy," he explained as Selphie opened her mouth to ask the obvious. "Just didn't work."

Seifer snorted. "Hell, Quistis could have used it in exchange for coffee--_Hyne_!" he exclaimed, as her foot came down --not delicately-- on top of his toes.

Squall didn't look too surprised to hear the words "Quistis" and "coffee" in the same sentence. He simply took another long pull of his beer and ignored the waiter as Rinoa was presented with some kind of alcoholic pink monstrosity that wouldn't have looked out of place in front of Laguna.

"So, yeah," Zell continued, ignoring Seifer. "The air's out, the flyin' thingy is definitely out, and most of the power supply's out until we can replace the generator. We just need to reprime the catalyst, but doin' that's a pain in the ass." He took another gulp.

"I love it when you talk technical, Dincht," Seifer muttered under his breath, warily eyeing Quistis' evil heels of doom.

"How much?" Squall was still staring at the table.

"Expensive." Zell grinned. "They don't make 'em like that anymore. It's all old Centran shit in the guts of BG, and if we could just replace it all it'd be, like, ten thousand times easier."

"That's what Trabia did," Selphie offered helpfully. "We got all shiny new parts for our core!"

"So there's precedent," Quistis mused. "That's good news, anyway."

There was a moment of silence as everyone pondered their alcohol. Squall pondered the table and his alcohol, being the multi-tasker that he was. Finally, Irvine coughed and leaned back in his chair. "So whaddaya need from us, big man?"

"Right." Squall sighed. "Zell, I want you to get with Quistis and Xu tonight--"

Seifer snorted.

"--and pull together a series of cost estimates for repairing and replacing BG parts." Squall paused, deliberately ignoring the interruption and downing the last of his beer. "Selphie, if you could do a brief report on Trabia's repairs -- nothing too specific, just a list of work done -- and give it to Quistis to compile. Irvine, help her out -- do the same for Galbadia." He sighed. "I'll get on the phone and schedule an emergency meeting."

"You've forgotten someone," Seifer pointed out.

"You're on guard duty," Squall replied with a shrug.

Seifer smirked. "I meant your girlfriend," he said in a sing-song tone.

Rinoa flushed and looked at the table. "I -- I could help," she offered softly, directing it mostly at Squall. "I could -- make phone calls -- or something."

Squall was perfectly still for a moment, but said finally, "You can come with me."


	3. In Which Martine is an Asshole

_Chapter 3: In Which Martine is an Asshole (And Other Fine Leadership Skills)_

Squall and Martine locked eyes almost instantly over the table. The International Council for Garden Institutions meeting hadn't even started, but Squall could already tell that things were going to be bad. Nasty, even. Silently, he thanked Hyne for Quistis' intuition: Seifer had been left behind - simultaneously threatened, ordered, and bribed to keep Balamb Garden under control in their absence. The look in Martine's eye spelled nothing good for BG today, and Seifer's solutions to such problems usually involved gunblades and a large amount of yelling.

In fact, only he, Quistis, and Xu were in the meeting. And Cid, of course, sitting at the head of the table and looking ridiculously calm. For a moment Squall pondered the similarities between his two father-figures: Cid, who was always cheerful, and Laguna, who was stupidly cheerful. Calling Laguna stupid in his head cheered him up; Squall almost smiled.

"Sir," Quistis hissed. "Is something funny?"

Squall shrugged, pausing to glare at Martine again on his way back to staring morosely at the table. Irvine would be here in a little bit; his friend had been called in on the Galbadian side of the table, probably so that Martine could make a show of power, but Irvine had refused to walk in the door with that "bloated bag of wind" and thus would be arriving late. Selphie and Rinoa were, supposedly, up to something which Squall only hoped did not involve either (a) Laguna or (b) Selphie's entire bank account, which had been thrown at him earlier this morning. Zell was, once again, trying to salvage anything worthwhile out of the guts of Garden. Squall's current plan was to sell the parts back to the Shumi for cash. It wasn't a very good plan, since it didn't involve a gunblade and Martine's smug face, but he was trying.

Right now, though, the occupants of the Garden Council were entering the room, solemn and serious as the occasion demanded. Irvine came up on their heels, and slid past the Balamb table to take a seat next to Martine. He made up for the location by scraping his chair to the left and sitting as near to Balamb's table as possible while still making it look like he was on Galbadia's side.

Squall nodded, nothing more than a slight tilt of the head that let Irvine know he'd noticed the gesture. Quistis flicked through her budget reports once more, and Xu poured a glass of water simply for something to do with her hands that didn't involve shooting everyone on the council and stealing their wallets. She'd decided on it as a backup plan earlier this morning.

The head councilman cleared his throat, the sound akin to that of a Chocobo dying. He surveyed the two tables of SeeDs in front of him.

"Order, please." He had the unpleasant expression of someone who must have had something that hadn't quite sat well for lunch, or irritable bowel syndrome; the councilman's scowl got deeper as he looked at Squall, as if Squall was somehow causing his pain. The commander stared back, unwavering, despite the itch at his neck from the uncomfortable uniform. "We are here today to review Balamb Garden's yearly financial budget, and make adjustments to said budget as necessary," the councilman continued. The way the word came out, it was clear that he didn't think Balamb_ Garden_ was entirely necessary, much less a budget review. "Commander Squall Leonhart, I assume you have prepared an outline pertaining to the needs of your Garden?"

Squall nodded.

"Bring it here."

Quistis's chair slid back and she walked the expanse of marble calmly and coolly, her boots clicking loudly against the floor (whose cost alone would probably be enough to replace the central air system). The councilman took the folder from her and opened it without bothering to hide his contempt.

_Fair hearing, my ass_, Squall thought darkly.

"Sir," Quistis began. "As you can see, we've submitted an emergency funds allocation form, which is what we're here to discuss. As I've-"

"Ma'am," the councilman interrupted. It was in that tone of voice that always infuriated Quistis; being called _Ma'am _tended to infuriate her too, and Squall sat up a little straighter in his seat to see whether Quistis was going to Laser Eye the smug bastard with their report, and maybe Martine besides. Luckily - or perhaps unluckily - Quistis held herself back.

"I don't believe you're authorized to speak for Balamb Garden," the councilman continued, looking extremely pleased with his declaration.

_What_? The incredulous look on Quistis' face echoed Squall's mental declaration. "Sir," she replied, hastily settling her composure back into place, "as this report and the research related to it is my work, I think-"

"Miss Trepe," Martine said smoothly, and now Squall _knew _Quistis was pissed: she hated being called _Miss _on principle. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You are a highly ranked SeeD, yes. But to petition the council on behalf of funding, you need to be a titled employee of Garden's bureaucracy itself."

"I'm not aware of any such rule," Quistis said smoothly. Squall grinned internally. If Martine wanted to argue the SeeD handbook, he'd never find an opponent more formidable than Quistis Trepe.

"Based on the recommendations of the ICGI," the councilman said, "we require further petitions from Balamb Garden to be given by people of authority - either Commander Leonhart, or Headmaster Kramer himself. It was decided last week."

Martine settled back in his chair, looking smug. Irvine threw him a brief glance that could've lit the man on fire had Irvine been Junctioned.

"That's not fair--" Xu began, but Squall's glare silenced her, and she sat back in her seat. The commander stood, hands flat against the table so he didn't feel compelled to throw something.

"_Instructor _Trepe has prepared the emergency funds allocation in accordance with the ICGI's requirements." Squall took a very deep breath and hoped to hell Quistis had avoided doing footnotes again. Her footnotes always read like ancient Centran. "Balamb Garden states for the record..."

--

Rinoa stirred her tea, but she was simply going through the motions. Squall was going to be so angry when he found out about this; unfortunately, Rinoa had yet to figure out what other choice she might have had. She added more creamer to the cup in front of her.

The train pulled into the station, and she looked up from the cup as a flurry of passengers on the train from Esthar disembarked. A familiar figure stepped out of the elaborate presidential car at the end of the train, and Rinoa sighed - although if it was from relief or dismay at having to go behind her boyfriend's back, even she couldn't say.

"Hi, Laguna."

Laguna grinned at her. She and Laguna had become quick friends; sometimes Rinoa idly wondered at the ease with which she'd fallen in with Squall's father as compared to her own. Although comparing Laguna and Caraway was like...comparing herself with Squall, really. And Squall certainly wouldn't have been doing this - not with his dignity and pride, for one thing, and second because he hated tea with a passion.

"Thanks so much for coming," she said, standing up to give him a hug. She noticed the shadowy figures behind him; Kiros and Ward were hanging back, giving Laguna a bit of space.

"No problem," Laguna said cheerfully, sitting down at her table. Rinoa had ordered a large scone before he had arrived, and then proceeded to pick it apart in her nervousness; Laguna poked at the crumbs as if looking for item remnants.

"I'm so sorry to call you out here so suddenly," Rinoa burst out. "I just - I need to ask you something. It's about Squall- no," she amended hastily, "it's about Garden."

"I figured," Laguna said. He signaled to the waitress. "Um, can I get a double mocha cappucino with light whipped cream?"

The waitress glanced over at Rinoa; she stared at the mess of scone in front of her and ordered another tea. The one she had been drinking had begun to taste like paint thinner, she had let it sit so long.

"So, what's my son done this time?" Laguna asked comfortably, settling back in the chair. Rinoa smiled faintly as he absently began to tap a sugar packet against the smooth tabletop--at least it wasn't one of those awkward leg cramps. "Is this another case of the ol' marital problems?"

"He...Laguna, he needs money. Really badly." As soon as she said it, it sounded pathetic and Rinoa wished she could take both sentences back before they hit Laguna's ears.

The president of Esthar stopped tapping the sugar packet, and raised an eyebrow at her.

Rinoa swallowed. "Garden needs money, really - Squall's fine, he doesn't - it's not like we're poor - _he's_ poor..." She paused to take a deliberate sip of the tea in front of her, stale or not. This was coming out all wrong.

Laguna dropped the sugar packet onto the table and leaned back slowly. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" he asked, his voice gentle and kind - which only made her feel worse.

"They screwed up," she said softly, her eyes on the table. "They thought that Balamb Garden could be fixed - that they could do it themselves. Martine and that new council were offering something, but Squall said that he didn't want to be enslaved to his contractors and that Balamb could fix itself." Even now, the words tasted bitter. "He was wrong."

"Ah," Laguna said simply. There was a long silence as the waitress presented them with warm drinks. Rinoa took a sip gratefully; Laguna added the sugar packet into his coffee.

"And Squall would never ask me for help," Laguna continued. It wasn't exactly a question; Rinoa looked up sharply, but Laguna's face was perfectly serene as he stirred another packet of sugar into his drink.

"...No, sir."

Laguna sipped his coffee as Rinoa shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Squall was going to be so mad at her, _oh god_...

"He doesn't know I'm here--I mean. I don't know. Laguna, he needs help. Selphie and Irvine and everyone came back to try to help, but it doesn't make gil appear out of thin air, which is what I think he wants to happen." She looked miserably at her tea. "He's mad at everyone, and he's going to _hate_ me, but I don't know what else to do."

"He won't hate you. I'm sure he'll appreciate all the help you're trying to give him."

Rinoa gave a sheepish laugh. "Do you really think he'd appreciate me coming to you for help?" As soon as she said it, she winced. "Sorry, Laguna. I didn't really mean that, I just - you know how Squall is."

"He'll appreciate you helping," Laguna pointed out. "He'll be mad at me, not you, and you know it. So don't worry!"

Rinoa bit her lip and said nothing. She poked at the crumbled scone a little bit.

"So," Laguna continued breezily, leaning back in his chair. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

---

The door shut slowly behind Quistis. Her heeled shoes made staccato noises on the crisp hall floor as she stalked away from the disastrous meeting and towards the water fountain. Idly she pictured drowning Martine in it. Her hands clenched and unclenched slowly.

Xu, following behind her, was much more quiet. "Quistis, what in the world do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving," Quistis snapped. "You heard it, they ordered me out of the room."

"It's because you wouldn't stop interrupting Squall," Xu pointed out cautiously. It didn't help the situation; Quistis' eyes, which had been burning bright, narrowed into slits.

"Xu, this is ridiculous!" she spat. "Squall didn't even read that report, and I certainly didn't explain my reasoning to him, since I thought _I_ would be talking." She paused, fisting her hands in an angry way that boded nothing good for the water fountain. "And that bastard councilman is grilling him on it, wondering why he's getting things _wrong_." Quistis sighed. "Of course he's getting it wrong. It's not his report! And Squall _hates_ my footnotes," she added somewhat viciously.

Xu leaned against the wall and watched Quistis attempt to regain her composure. The silence in the hallway after her outburst was almost deafening--Xu wouldn't have been surprised if the entire council could hear every word Quistis had said through those thick doors. She glanced at them out of reflex, and they burst open; she almost (_almost_) jumped out of surprise.

Squall stormed out, Selphie on his heels. Martine and Irvine followed, the former with a smug grin on his face and the latter looking pissed.

"Sir?" Xu asked.

"Denied. Again," Squall said flatly, coming to a stop in front of them. Martine's grin grew wider. Xu decided that punching him, while therapeutic, would probably not do good things for Balamb's image.

"Good luck next time, boy," the Galbadian headmaster said, his tone maliciously gleeful. "You're going to need it."

Irvine hung back as the headmaster strode off. "Asshole," he muttered. "Shit, Squall, I didn't think it would go quite like that."

Squall glared at him.

"So wait, sir," Xu said, taking a step towards Squall as if looking for something. "That's just - that's it?"

Squall nodded. He looked strangely calm, almost catatonical, as if none of this were really going on around him. "Yes," he repeated patiently, "that's it."

"They can't do that," Quistis said, recovering from her funk almost instantly at the sight of this new dilemma. "They have to let an appeals process through with -"

"Quistis," Squall said, his voice infinitely patient. "You don't get it yet, do you?"

Quistis turned her glare onto Squall. "Don't get what, _sir_?"

Squall shook his head, implicating the other people in the hall. "It can wait until we're back at Balamb." He turned on his heel and stalked from the building, the anger which hadn't been evident in his face clearly visible in his walk.

Quistis blinked.

"C'mon, Quisty," Selphie said, taking her friend by the arm and pulling her down the hall. "At least the Ragnarok has air conditioning."

--

Rinoa stood outside the door to Squall's office, drumming her fingers anxiously on the wall as she waited for his return. His secretary had offered her admittance into the chamber going on six times now, but Rinoa had denied it. She wasn't even sure if Squall would want to_ talk _to her, much less have her be the first thing he saw when he came back from the Garden Council meeting.

Laguna had left her a blank, signed check--"Whatever you need, just fill it out, and we'll take care of it," he had promised her before hopping on the next train back to Esthar. The check was folded in her pocket, feeling for all the world like an anvil had taken up residence there instead.

"Messages, Commander," the secretary said dully, holding out a sheaf of paper as Squall stepped out of the elevator. "And Rinoa's here to see you."

"Not right now," Squall said, his tone clipped as he leafed through the messages. "I've got things to do."

"Squall..."

His head jerked up at Rinoa's tentative voice. "What?" he asked irritably. Rinoa winced. This wasn't going to go well at _all_, not if he was angry already, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to know that the meeting had decidedly not gone according to plan. Instinctively, she made sure Lionheart was not attached to her boyfriend's waist.

"Can we talk in your office?" she asked quietly. "Please?"

Squall stared at her hard for a long moment, and it felt like he was trying to root around in her brain and get the information himself, rather than deal with Rinoa's unease. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and waited. Finally, something in his face gave, and he nodded, a brief bob of his head.

"Should I hold your calls, sir?" the secretary asked--Garden's telephone system was a jury-rigged mess of cables, headaches, and circuits that worked exactly some of the time, but it was the only real system of communication that was reliable at Balamb. The commander shrugged.

"This shouldn't take long." He pushed open the door to his office, and let Rinoa enter the room before him.

"I know you're going to be mad," Rinoa said softly as the door closed behind them.

"I-" Squall shrugged, his eyes still on the desk. "Yes, the meeting was a disaster, Rinoa. Yes, I'll tell you all about it." He finally turned his gaze onto her. "But can't we do this lat- wait," he said, his eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I know you won't like this," Rinoa ventured, taking a step closer to his desk. "But I-" Her voice faltered a little and she tried to square her shoulders, telling herself she was simply trying to do right by her friends. "I have something that might help you out."

Squall looked away. "All this time in the hotel room and _now _you've come up with something." His voice was surprisingly flat, and Rinoa started.

"I didn't know it bothered you that much," she retorted, surprised at the emotional admission.

"Of course it - never mind," Squall said, sitting down on the edge of the desk and rubbing at his eyes with the base of his palm. "Rin, does this have to happen right now?"

"I have money."

The office filled with an uncomfortable silence. Squall seemed to be frozen in thought, his hand still awkwardly pressed to one temple. Slowly, he lowered the offending appendage and looked at her. "_Rinoa_."

"It's good money," she said hurriedly, trying to fill the gap. "It doesn't mean you're beholden to anyone, and you don't have to sign any contracts, and you can take as much or as little as you want at first, so you could start with something basic, and -" Her hand absently brushed against the pocket holding the check. "No strings attached," she said softly.

"I can't take money from your father." Squall shook his head in one crisp and decisive movement. "I - we - appreciate it, but - _Rinoa_," he finished, the admonishment plain in his voice.

She bit her lip and looked away as she fished the check out of her pocket. "It's not my father," Rinoa said quickly, who wouldn't take money from Caraway, either, and she was _related_ to him. She held out the still-folded paper to him. Squall stared at her long and hard, and then reached out and snatched it from her fingers. There was a rustle as he unfolded it and glanced at the name on the check.

"No," he said flatly, and handed it back to her.

"Squall--"

"No."

Rinoa stared at Laguna's signature across the bottom of the check and then back at her boyfriend, whose face was unreadable. "Why not? He's your father! He's here to help you!"

"I don't want, or need, his charity." Squall sat abruptly in his desk chair and began to fill out the first piece of paperwork at hand. The actions were intended to effectively dismiss Rinoa, she knew, but she pressed on.

"He loves you, and he wants to help you..."

"He can help me by staying out of this. Rinoa, I have work to do."

Rinoa's face contorted for a moment, as if she were going to scream at him, and then it settled into something akin to disappointment. "You're making a mistake," she said. "It's not just about you anymore."

He glared at her, and Rinoa snapped on the heel of her sandal as sharply as she could, which wasn't very sharp--she almost fell over--and marched out of Squall's office. The door shut behind her very quietly.

Squall placed his forehead in his hands with a labored sigh, and stared at the form in front of him until the words stopped making sense. It took a long time.


	4. Mayhem and Madwomen

_Chapter 4: Mayhem and Madwomen_

Zell found Quistis in the library, her hair yanked back into a tight bun on her head and her eyes fully fixed on the massive legal text in front of her. Once in a while, she would scribble something down on a notepad. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, Quis?"

She didn't even look up from the book, just jotted something about "financiary dutification" or something (Zell had never been able to read her handwriting very well--he was convinced she was always writing in a different language just to confuse him). "Yes, Zell?"

"Uh, I'm taking a break to go out to Centra for a couple of days, visit Edea. Squall wanted me to see if you wanted to come with."

Quistis set down her pen and sighed, pulling off her glasses to massage the bridge of her nose. "I would, Zell, really. But the ICGI denied us; I have to find a way around all that--in a language that our dear _Commander _can understand--and I don't have a whole lot of time to do it in. The appeals deadline is in a week."_ If they'll even let us make one_. Quistis told her brain to shut up, and stared back down at the book.

Zell shrugged. "You sure you don't want a break an' all?" He eyed Quistis' collection of gigantic texts. "That looks awful."

Quistis shook her head vaguely, turning the page. "I don't think I can afford it. Thanks," she added as an afterthought.

Zell wiped the sweat off of his brow and sighed. "Man, it'll be good to get out of here for a while. It's too fuckin' hot."

Quistis nodded faintly. She did not bother to tell Zell that his motion had simply added more mechanical grease to his forehead; instead, she took a long sip from her water bottle and wished it were at least iced coffee. Unfortunately, Seifer was the absolute last person she wanted to see, and therefore her caffeine addiction would have to wait. "Have fun," she replied after a long moment of silence. "Tell Matron I said hi."

Zell nodded. "Yeah. I will. Later, Quisty." But Quistis had already returned to her book and her notes, and so Zell turned and left the library, much to the relief of the unlucky cadet on duty, who was practically having a heart attack over the greasy footprints he was leaving on the carpet.

Quistis sighed, wiping her own brow as she reached for another book. Garden Legalese was horribly complicated - she suspected it had been Cid's way of keeping the grubby paws of NORG out of as much as possible, but now it was coming back to bite them all in the collective ass. She flipped open her copy of _Appendix to Garden Legal Proceedings, Ae - Mn._

Some pathetic part of her began categorizing in alphabetical order all of the names she'd like to call Martine as she paged through the book. Cheered by this thought, Quistis barely noticed the form sitting down at the table across from her.

"Quistis," Squall said patiently, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Confirming the appeals policy," Quistis replied absently, flipping back through the book to double-check. "If we can show that they're in breach of policy, then we can -"

"Quistis." Squall repeated her name in that way Quistis knew meant business. She looked up. His face was grim and almost angry, and she wondered whether he'd been quarreling with Rinoa again.

"I don't think you understand," he began, slowly. "We're done."

"We're not done, sir," Quistis shot back. "There are rules and regulations that the Council is in a very clear violation of, and -"

"Who will you report them to, Quistis?" Squall leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands, looking weary and stubborn. "They're the Garden Council."

"We -" Quistis stammered. "We'll take them - to court! Or we at least show the Council their error! I'm sure some of them want to adhere to policy - we just have to appeal to the right ones, and .."

"Martine's bought the entire Council," Squall said.

Quistis' jaw dropped a fraction of an inch.

"It's _done_," Squall repeated, the muscles in his jaw working hard as he spat the words. "There isn't anything we can do."

"But what--" Quistis's mind raced, and not for the first time, seemed to slam into brick wall after brick wall as she tried to wrap her head around the idea that Martine had gotten to their last leg of survival. "Can't Laguna do something?" she said finally, her search for better ideas determined fruitless.

"No. He's a figurehead. The president of _Esthar_, which, if I could remind you, is a city that doesn't exactly have us in their good books. And I wouldn't go to him anyway." There was a terse silence, and then Squall stood and marched out of the library, probably simply to have the last word without the effort. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, the irritatingly logical part of her mind said.

Quistis stared at her legal books, her stubborn streak refusing to admit that things were hopeless. Books! If books and rules couldn't save them, what would? She was Quistis Trepe: she could argue a T-Rexaur into submission if she had to. Regulations were her _lifeblood_.

"Squall may want to give up," she said to herself firmly, not really caring what the Library attendant thought of her. "But that doesn't mean I'm quitting. There'll be a loophole somewhere."

"It might look better if you weren't talking to yourself like a loony," a voice said from behind her.

Quistis whirled in her seat, her heart thudding in surprise. "_Seifer_!" she spat out. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Seifer grinned almost maniacally at her. "Am I interrupting?" He craned his neck. "You got somebody stuffed under the table or something?"

"Seifer," Quistis said instead, her eyes wide. "What in the name of Eden's seven hells are you _wearing_?"

It appeared to be a worn beater-type tank top, stretched impossibly tight and thin by one too many washings, and a pair of running shorts that might have looked indecent on a _girl_. Quistis' brain flew wildly through one too many _Is that a gunblade in your pocket? _jokes and landed, much to her dismay, on Seifer's neatly-displayed arse.

Seifer smirked proudly. "Workout clothes."

"U-uniform violation," Quistis managed to stammer out. It was almost _offensive_.

"Screw you," Seifer said, throwing himself into the chair across from her. "It's hot in here. Code says dress for the weather."

Quistis raised an eyebrow. "The code also says _pants_, Seifer," she shot back. "I am noting a distinct lack of pants."

Seifer's smirk just got wider. "It's Leonhart's latest uniform policy. No clothing on the bottom half. Off with the skirt, Instructor," he said blithely, looking immensely pleased at the prospect of a half-naked Quistis.

A muscle in Quistis' forehead twitched, and she very deliberately flattened her palms against the desk as to avoid throwing anything at him. She _needed _these books. "I will not hit you; it would be beneath my dignity."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Hyne, you're gonna have to remove that stick from your ass eventually--there's no way this place is going to keep going much longer."

"Shut up, Seifer."

"And if it does, I'm sure as hell not sticking around to suffer like the rest of you," he continued, ignoring her order. "You all can go down with your captain."

Quistis rested her forehead in her palms wearily. "Seifer, last time I checked, you were a wanted war criminal. Where the hell are you going to go?"

Seifer shrugged again. "Timber."

"Timber," Quistis repeated, incredulous. "Seifer, it's barely any cooler there."

"There's work," Seifer said. "Mercenary work. The sweet kind. Not like here." He made a bland gesture with his hand. "Guarding your gate sucks, and the pay is horrible."

"Seifer, please get out of here." Quistis reached for the nearest text - and then brandished it at him. "Unless you want to help," she said hopefully.

"Um, hell no, Instructor," Seifer replied, backing away. "I think that gate needs guarding, or, y'know, anything that's more fun than sitting in this fuckin' library."

Seifer was gone before Quistis' mind caught up with her: she should've asked him about his coffee-pot.

_xx_

"Irvy, you shouldn't go." Selphie sat on his bed, one leg tucked underneath her and the other idly kicking the air. "It's not gonna do any good."

Irvine didn't look up from his suitcase. "I have to go, Sefie, babe. Somebody's gotta do somethin' with Martine." _And Squall doesn't seem to be doing it. _He swallowed the thought as soon as it came forward, feeling slightly guilty about it.

"What, like shoot him?" Selphie threw him an evil grin. "Blow 'im up?"

Irvine scowled as he shoved another couple of shirts into the case. "I wish. Bastard deserves it." He snapped shut the case. "But babe, Martine's holdin' all the cards right now, and I'm the only one with any real connection to Galbadia left."

"Squall's not going to like it."

"Sefie, Squall doesn't like much of _anythin' _right now," Irvine explained as patiently as he could, and tossed Exeter's case on top of his suitcase. "We have to do somethin' before this whole place falls down around our ears."

Selphie frowned.

"I wish he would've taken my money," she mused as Irvine headed back to his closet. "Maybe - I could sneak it into his office or something, like a ninja!"

"Squall won't take it," Irvine said, his voice somewhat muffled as he rooted around in the bottom of the closet. "Not yours, not Laguna's... I dunno if he'd even take the Council's money at this point. Not sure what Grat crawled up his bottom. Takin' money ain't charity when it's _business_."

"I would've bought the best Garden Festival ever," Selphie said mournfully.

Irvine sighed. "There's gotta be a solution. Sometimes I wish money grew on trees."

"Not in this kind of Garden," Selphie quipped, falling backwards onto Irvine's bed. "Irvy, can I go with you?"

"Mmph?" Irvine's head emerged from the closet. "No, Seffiebug, you know you can't."

"I just don't know what I'll do here! It's too hot, and Squall's a grumpy-pants." Her hands clenched in the bedding. "I wanna come with."

"Here." A wadded lump of fabric hit her in the face. Selphie sat up, unfolding it.

"Irvy, what the hell?" It was a hooded sweatshirt, old and slightly worn.

"It's my lucky sweatshirt," Irvine drawled, grinning at her. "You gotta wear it until I get back."

Selphie held up the sweatshirt in front of her critically. "Irvy, it's about three hundred thousand degrees in this place--I can't wear a sweatshirt!"

"Well, use it as a pillow or somethin'." Irvine shrugged, and kissed her forehead. "I gotta go. I'll call you when I get to G. Garden." He slipped past her, suitcase in hand, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Selphie sighed. She wondered if the TC was vaguely operational--if there were monsters to be killed, she wanted to kill them.

_xx_

Zell disembarked the tiny skiff, chucking his bag and the box of almost meager supplies from Garden onto the dock before jumping down next to his stuff. He shielded his eyes with one hand as he surveyed the lighthouse and orphanage--the latter of which was looking slightly better than ruins by now. For a while, after the war had ended, Squall sent a couple of teams over to Centra to help Edea rebuild. Of course, money had dried up faster than any of them could anticipate--now, it was Zell once a month, with whatever he could scrounge up that Garden didn't need.

He picked up the box, scowling at how light it was--the contents were mostly Ma's cooking and then some item fragments that he had purloined from the armory to help Matron ward off some of Centra's more determined monsters. He followed the narrow stone path from the dock to the lighthouse door, and knocked.

"Matron, it's Zell!" he shouted. Soon, a head of long black hair poked itself out of one of the upper windows. She beamed at him.

"I'll be right down!" she called back, and indeed, despite the fact that she had to be getting up there in years, it didn't take Edea Kramer very long at all to come down three flights of stairs. The door opened, and Zell grinned.

"Hi, Matron."

Edea's smile was still full of grace and peace, and Zell was filled with a warm rush as he looked at her. She seemed to be doing well: her hair was neatly brushed, falling around her face in a soft curtain, and her simple dress was clean and neat. It was a welcome improvement from Zell's last visit, and he had to try hard to not sigh in relief.

"Come on in," Edea said. "I've been cleaning."

And she had; the kitchen was gleaming with a lemon-fresh clean, and the front room looked surprisingly dust-free. Zell gave another huge grin. "It looks great, Matron!"

Edea smiled calmly as she headed into the kitchen. "Thank you, Zell. Can I make you some tea?"

"That'd be awesome," Zell replied. In all honesty, tea was probably his second-least favourite thing to drink in the world, preceded only by "anything Almasy has touched." But seeing Edea like this -- alert and active, with her wits about her -- made him feel like a cup of nasty tea would be worth it. He didn't want to do anything to jinx her mood.

"Here, I brought you some stuff," he said instead, opening the box on the table.

Edea set the kettle on the stove and wiped her hands off on one of the many dishrags scattered about the kitchen--the lighthouse had been one of the "Orphanage Gang's" (the nickname a media byproduct) pet projects. Squall had managed to end up half-coated in the light yellow paint that now covered the walls; Zell was still pretty sure Rinoa had something to do with it.

"Oh, you didn't need to bring anything--I'm fine, really." Edea smiled and set a plate of cookies in front of Zell. "How is everyone?"

Zell swallowed. "They're great," he said, and tried to ignore the foul taste in his mouth that came with lying to one of the most important people in his life. "Quistis says hi, so does everyone else."

"Ah. I should really get out there to visit. I keep meaning to, but Cid's always bustling off to some meeting or another, and I've been so busy here..." She waved her hand around the kitchen. "I ordered new curtains," Edea added, the switch of the topic very pointed. "Would you mind helping me hang them later?"

The tea kettle let off a whistle, and the look on Edea's face was almost palpable relief. She stood, and moved to shut the stove off.

Zell stuffed a cookie in his mouth to prevent himself from asking the very palpable _What's wrong?_ that had almost made it to his lips. Really, this was a vast improvement from his last image of Edea: tangled, dirty, and weeping, covered in as much dust as the house as she wandered its rooms...

The shocking sound of the kettle pierced his thoughts; Edea stood, as if frozen, her hand on the dial of the stove, staring at the air between herself and the kettle.

"Matron?" Zell leapt from his seat, plucking the kettle from the hot stove - anything to stop that whistle! He gently removed Edea's hand from the knob and turned the burner off.

"Such a loud cry..." Her voice was soft, almost vague, and Zell felt the nervous uncertainty punch him in the gut.

"Here, Matron, sit down." He guided her to the table, settling her in his old chair and hopefully pushing the plate of cookies in her general direction. He then headed back to the stove to make his own tea - Zell Dincht wasn't helpless in the kitchen, oh no, his Ma had made sure of that. He took his time with the tea, keeping his eyes firmly on the teacups and giving Edea a chance to settle.

Finally he turned to her, grinning; Edea was back to normal, her graceful smile in place like a mask. "Here, Matron," Zell said, "I made you some tea."

"What a good boy," Edea replied. "Thank you, Zell."

He nodded, and busied himself stirring sugar into his teacup.

She stared into her own drink. "Cid told me--that Seifer is doing well?"

Zell shifted in his chair; the question was a loaded one. "I guess. He's still being a jerk to everyone, but that's normal, so..."

"Normal." She nodded faintly.

He nodded. "Are you okay?" he blurted out finally. "Maybe you should go lie down or something."

Edea lifted a cookie from the plate and studied it, eyes coursing across the bumps and ridges in its surface--_ like a queen surveying the land_.

Zell blinked; he had no idea where _that _thought had come from. He wanted to swat the cookie out of her hand - to throw the plate down, to make some noise and get a scolding. He wanted his old Matron back.

"The cookies are good," he offered instead, ignoring the chill down his spine.

"I -" Edea's voice cracked as she dropped the cookie. It broke into two pieces as it hit the plate. Her eyes closed. "I'm trying to keep busy, Zell." She said it like a confession, her voice soft. "It helps, some days - the cleaning, the cooking. Other days..."

Zell winced. "Hey. You don't have to explain yourself, Matron." He hoped it was reassuring. He'd come to help her out, but he didn't like being in this strange position - like he was in charge, and checking up on her.

"I - I do," Edea replied softly. She looked up, the ghost of her normal smile crossing her face. "Maybe not to you, but in the end, I do."

Zell didn't really like where this conversation was going. "Well, I think you look great," he said boldly, reaching out to pat her on the arm. For extra emphasis, he ate the broken cookie.

Edea nodded vaguely, and held her teacup in trembling hands. She set the cup down and folded her hands into her lap instead. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'm trying--it's just..."

"I got it." Zell nodded firmly. "You'll be okay. You _will_."

"Edea? Are you in here?" Cid's voice cut through their conversation, and soon was followed by the sound of shoes against the stairs. Edea rose to greet him swiftly, a smile plastered on her face.

"Hello, dear. Zell's come to visit."

_xx_

"Squall?"

Rinoa stood in front of the door to his dorm room, feeling her mascara threatening to run in the muggy heat that filled the corridors. She narrowed her eyes at the door in front of her, trying to will it to open -- she probably could've done it, had she put any real effort into it. Instead she sighed, loudly. "Squall, are you even there?"

She knocked again in exasperation, but there were no answering footsteps, no "_Come in_" from the other side.

"What?" His voice was quiet in her ear as he came up behind Rinoa, reaching past her to punch in the lock code. "Sorry I'm late."

Rinoa sighed and moved past to let him open the door, surveying him critically. "It's fine," she sighed. "...Where did your shirt go?"

He shrugged. "I went for a run down by the beach."

Squall brushed past her and entered the room; _so_, Rinoa thought with a small twinge of annoyance, _the cold shoulder still stands_. She followed him into his dorm room - which was swelteringly hot, moreso even than the hallway. Only Squall Leonhart would be too stubborn to open his windows. Rinoa found herself wishing the 'cold shoulder' into actual existence; she piled her long hair atop her head, trying to get some fresh air to her sweaty neck.

"We're going to be late." She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but it didn't entirely work; she was still a little peeved at the closed windows.

"Sorry." From the tone of his voice, Squall wasn't really sorry at all. "Mind if I shower?"

"Oh, go ahead," Rinoa said, plunking herself down on the bed and grabbing a copy of _Weapons Monthly _to fan herself with. "I'll phone them and bump the reservation back a half-hour."

"I'll try to hurry," Squall said bluntly, his attitude indicating that he didn't really care whether they made the reservation at Felicia's or not. Rinoa heard the shower spatter once or twice - a muffled "Damn" floated through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone kicking something - and then the sound of rushing water filled the dorm room. Resigned, she reached for her phone and dialed the restaurant.

"You know," she said aloud after hanging up, "you could at least pretend to care."

The shush of the shower was her only response. "I'm only trying to help," Rinoa continued, addressing Squall's pile of laundry for lack of a better subject. "I just want to ...cheer you up. Do something that's related to... you and me. Girlfriend and boyfriend-like." She paused. "Something not related to Garden. It's just _dinner_."

The pile of laundry did not answer. She heard Squall drop something, probably the soap.

Rinoa sighed in frustration, and walked over to his window. With a little effort, she managed to crack it open a couple of inches, wincing as it squeaked loudly in its frame. The air that floated inside wasn't any cooler than the stuff already circulating.

She swore under her breath and dropped back down onto his messy bed. The shower finally shut off and Squall emerged, one of the flimsy Garden issue towels knotted around his waist.

"You say something?" he asked, yanking open his closet.

"Never mind," she muttered. "It doesn't matter."

Squall flipped through a stack of folded clothes and came out with out one of his nicer shirts. He glanced at the wrinkles, and threw it on anyway, buttoning it with no real hurry. "Whatever."

"We don't have to go." Her voice sounded childish and whiny, even to her. Rinoa swallowed and tried again. "If you're still angry at me for the - the Laguna thing - then I don't want to go and have to deal with you ignoring me all night."

"Whatever," Squall said again. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his face in his hands. "Whatever."

"Fine." Rinoa shrugged; at least Shrug was one language Squall could understand. "Maybe Quistis will want to go with me. She could use a break," she added with bite. "She's been in the Library all day."

Squall sighed. "Rin."

There was a longish pause, long enough for Rinoa to turn to the door again. The use of her nickname had been a good sign; this long silence, however, wasn't the world's best omen.

"It's okay," she said softly. "I'll just go with - with Quistis, or I'll cancel it."

"No." She heard the bed creak as Squall stood up. "I'm - tired. It's been a long day, Rin." He shot a glare at the open window, but declined to mention it. "It'll be nice to have some decent food and sit in somewhere with air conditioning," Squall continued bluntly. "I'm just not in the mood for much conversation."

Rinoa bit her lip, considering. On the one hand, if anyone could draw Squall out of this shell, it was her. On the other hand, she was really tired of having to beat Squall over the head with the clue bat to get him to talk about Garden.

"Alright," she said finally, holding the door open. "We'll still go. But you're paying."


	5. Biting the Bullet

_Chapter 5: Biting the Bullet / Pulling the Trigger / Insert Gun-Based Euphemism Here_

As he made his way through the eerily-clean hallways of Galbadia Garden, Irvine wondered yet again just how Martine had come up with the money for all these repairs. G-Garden looked almost ridiculously well-kept: modern, updated, with happy professional-looking students walking its hallways in pairs. No one - save the SeeDs who had seen it - would've been able to tell that Galbadia Garden had once been used as a battering ram. Irvine kept coming back to the same three options: _extortion, prostitution_, and _the bastard robbed a bank._

Admittedly, Martine's source of money wasn't Irvine's main concern. He didn't give two shits where Martine got _his _money. Irvine just wanted to know why he was so dead-set on keeping it all away from B-Garden. Balamb was supposed to be Galbadia's comrade-in-arms, or at least its wary ally. Did Martine _really _think he'd be better off without Balamb?

His soft boots made little sound as he headed through the hallways, duffel bag over his shoulder and Exeter's case in hand.

"I'm here to talk to Martine," he told the well-groomed SeeD at the front desk.

"Do you have an appointment?" She began to flip through the calendar in front of her.

"Nope," Irvine said, flashing her a cheeky grin. "No, this is an emergency call."

"One moment." The SeeD pressed a buzzer, and picked up the handset of the telephone. "Sir, there's an--" She glanced up at Irvine.

"Kinneas." He repeated the cheeky grin; the receptionist ignored him.

"A Mr. Kinneas here to see you. He says it's an emergency." She listened for a moment, and hung up the phone. "Have a seat; he'll be with you in a moment."

Irvine tipped his hat in gratitude, but the SeeD just looked at him coolly and then returned to her computer. He shrugged, sat, and waited.

The clock indicated that ten minutes had passed, and they were well into their eleventh by the time the door to Martine's office opened. Irvine got to his feet, and saluted the headmaster as was protocol, whether he meant it or not. Every detail would count this time around.

"Cadet Kinneas. This is a ...surprise." For a moment, Martine's expression reminded Irvine of a Grat. _A fat, rich, asshole Grat._

Irvine nodded, the motion brisk and nothing like the nod he had given the female SeeD. "Headmaster."

Martine's smile--if one could call it that and not feel violently ill about it--widened. "Come in, Cadet." As Irvine sat stiffly on the chair opposite the massive desk, Martine added, "I've been expecting you."

"Have you," Irvine replied. It wasn't really a question; apparently his behavior at the Balamb hearing had at least been obvious. He was kind of relieved.

Martine settled into his plush chair behind the desk. As always, it was covered with neat stacks of paper, mostly color-coded; Quistis would've been pleased. "You're here to talk about your SeeDship."

_What? _ Irvine blinked, and then smiled. It was nice to be able to prove Martine wrong, for a change. "Not exactly."

"Really?" The corners of Martine's smile curved upwards in a malicious grin. "It seems to me that your SeeDship should be your sole concern. If you wait too long, Irvine, you won't qualify for the test anymore."

The use of his first name - like they were all buddy-buddy - irked Irvine to no end. "I understand, sir," he said, gritting his teeth; Martine responded to flattery if nothing else. Personally Irvine would've preferred the tried-and-true method of slamming Exeter into the man's skull, but a cowboy couldn't have everything. "I just need to get some things straight in my head before I even think about the rest."

Martine smiled. For a moment it was just like it had been before his fateful first mission; Martine had been like a guardian of his at G-Garden, taking the mentorship of his star marksman very seriously. "Go ahead, Irvine," Martine said cordially. "You can ask me anything you'd like."

"I'd like to know why you are so dead-set on denying funding to Balamb Garden."

Martine nodded as if he'd expected the question. "Because, simply put, until _competent _leadership is put in place, no funding should be awarded to a sub-par Garden."

"They're only 'sub-par' because no one will approve them funding to replace all the core parts like y'all got," Irvine shot back, angrier than he'd really planned to sound.

"Then maybe their Cid Kramer should have thought about that, and instead of wasting money on sending untested SeeDs on missions doomed to failure..."

Irvine briefly envisioned all the damage he could do to Martine's face with that particularly shiny stapler. It hadn't been _his _fault that particular mission had failed. It still rankled with him, slightly - and from the look on Martine's face, Martine knew it.

"Cid Kramer," Martine repeated idly. "What do you think of the man, Kinneas?"

Irvine removed his eyes from the (very tempting) stapler and met Martine's gaze. "What do you mean, sir?"

"You've spent a lot of time at Balamb Garden," Martine said. He shifted the stack of papers in front of him slightly, and then aligned all the edges again. "Would you say he's a competent Garden head?"

"I certainly would," Irvine replied boldly. "And I think the public would agree with me."

"You'd be surprised." There was a long, soft pause. "And what do you think of his relationship with the Sorceress Edea?"

Irvine quirked one eyebrow; if Martine was looking for dirt on Cid, he was looking in the wrong place. And if he wanted Irvine to dish on Edea - well, he'd brought Exeter for a reason. Irvine hadn't forgotten Martine's last dig against their Matron. "I don't see any problem with Cid _or _Edea," he said.

Martine leaned across the desk, clasping his hands in front of him. "You don't think that there's a conflict of interest between Cid's position at Garden's forefront and his marriage to a Sorceress?"

"She's not a Sorceress anymore," Irvine pointed out.

"Ah." Martine smiled, and Irvine knew he'd fallen into the trap. "Then what about Commander Leonhart's association with the new Sorceress, then?"

"I don't really see what that's got to do with Balamb Garden's funding," Irvine said slowly, letting Martine know he'd caught onto the trick.

"Commander Leonhart's loyalties are torn. He can't focus all of his attention on Garden while he's off playing Knight." Martine adjusted one of the stacks of papers in front of him, his voice unsettlingly casual.

The sharpshooter shifted in his chair. "Commander Leonhart's personal life is none of my business." _And you're a fucking asshole, _he did not add aloud. It would have been redundant.

"Garden's leaders must keep their full attention on the job at hand," Martine said smoothly. The whole conversation was going in a direction that Irvine did not like at all. "If they cannot do that, perhaps it's time to find someone else who can."

He smiled, but to call it that stretched the definition of the word. It was almost..._feral_. Irvine shifted in his chair again.

"I-" Irvine paused. He _knew _he was going to get himself in trouble here if he didn't step carefully. Very carefully. "Are you saying that a Garden leader can't have a personal life?" It was a poor distraction, and he knew it, but he didn't really want to follow the current track of the conversation.

Martine leaned back in his chair. "Irvine, what is the true purpose of Garden?"

"It's a military school made to help young children and orphans develop usable skills for life."

"And?" Martine still wasn't smiling.

"And," Irvine stammered, "economically we're a mercenary business which hires out military force on certain terms."

Martine shook his head. Now he was smiling, and it was worse than when he wasn't. "Irvine," he said. "What is the true purpose of Garden according to Headmaster Cid?"

Irvine kept his mouth shut.

"Cadet Kinneas..." Martine slid his chair back a couple of inches from his desk and laced his fingers in front of him. "Garden was designed to fight the Sorceresses, to prevent the wars from happening all over again. To have two leaders... _involved _with these women goes against everything that Headmaster Cid promotes Garden to be."

Irvine wondered whether anyone would notice if he bludgeoned Martine in the head with one of those ugly paperweights. Then he caught the blinking red eye of one of the security cameras and decided against it. For now, anyway.

"We can't have leaders who won't follow their own regulations, can we," Martine added. It was not a question. "It brings a bad name down upon the whole Garden Institution."

"You're just pissed because Ultimecia and Almasy got hold of your Garden and your cadets couldn't stop it," Irvine spat, and then his eyes went wide.

..._Shit_.

Martine, to his surprise, only blinked once before regaining his composure.

"Is that what they're telling you over at Balamb Garden?" Martine raised an eyebrow. "That Galbadia Garden is incompetent? That sounds like a smear campaign to me." He shook his head as if disappointed. "Sounds like someone's a little jealous of our success."

It just figured Martine would turn those words against him, too. "No one has said any such thing," Irvine stated through gritted teeth.

Martine sighed. "This just further proves all of my suspicions about Balamb Garden. I'd be careful where your final allegiance lies, _Cadet _Kinneas."

_Well_, Irvine thought, _if I'm in for one gil_... "Is that a threat, sir?" He made sure the title was so clearly pronounced it would sound an insult.

Martine raised an eyebrow. "Don't forget that your SeeDship can't come from Balamb Garden," he said smoothly.

Irvine settled back in his chair. "Seems to me like it's kind of cowardly to pay off a council to see your side of the matter, though, and then try to bribe people to your end of the field."

There was a very long, very tense silence.

"You're dismissed, Cadet."

_xx_

"Rinoa, I don't have time for this," Squall said for the hundredth time in that hour. "I just don't."

Rinoa rolled his chair back away from his desk and reached over to his phone, typing in Laguna's number from memory. "I am trying to help you," she said, and her hand hovered over a small bank of buttons. "Speaker?" she finally demanded.

Squall leaned past her and jabbed one of the buttons. Ringing began to echo in the office.

"President Laguna Loire's office, how may I help you?"

"Cathy, it's Rinoa. Is the president busy?"

Squall raised his eyebrow at her. Since when had Rinoa been on a first name basis with Laguna's secretary?

"He is, but it's only Kiros," the friendly voice chirped. "Shall I put you through anyway?"

"Thanks, Cath, you're a doll." Rinoa tapped a finger on the desk impatiently. The faint sound of an extension being dialed filled the room. "Squall," she said finally, softly: "you might as well just listen to him. Give him a chance."

Squall stared at the wall. "A chance to what? Bail us out of trouble with his bottomless pockets?"

"Well," Rinoa said, "yes."

Squall glowered.

The phone finally clicked. "Hello," said the familiar voice, "this is President Laguna. Who's calling?"

"Hey," Rinoa said. "It's us."

"Hello, Rinoa." There was a short pause. "And...?"

Rinoa glared at Squall, who refused to move. "And Squall," she said finally, trying not to let the defeat creep into her voice.

"Ah, cool. What's up, guys?" There was the sound of some papers being shuffled away, and Rinoa glanced over at her boyfriend.

"Squall wants to talk to you. About the check."

"Right, right. Remember, the amount doesn't matter; just give me a call when you cash it."

"I'm not going to," Squall said coldly. "I don't need your money."

"_Squall_," Rinoa exclaimed exasperatedly. "Listen to your father for _one damn minute_!"

He blinked at her, startled.

"Sorry," she murmured, shoving her hair out of her face.

Laguna started to say something, stopped, and then started again. "It's not a big deal, Squall. I'm just trying to help you; you don't have to think about it as charity. Think of it as payment for a job from Esthar. I could hire a couple of you guys out to clear off some of the monsters up here."

Rinoa looked at Squall wearily. "A job, Squall. Think of it as a job."

"We've got a few rogue packs of monsters lurking around. We could use the occasional SeeD hand, just to keep 'em under control. What do you say?" Laguna's voice sounded forcedly cheerful.

The commander glared at the ceiling. Rinoa fervently prayed in the direction of his desk lamp that Squall would not say anything stupid or irrational. Or irrationally stupid. "...I'll send you the paperwork."

She let out the breath that she had been holding.

"Remember, Esthar's willing to pay a lot for your help."

Squall reached over and hit the disconnect button.

"Squall!" Rinoa grabbed for the phone, punching buttons as if she could undo the hang-up. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I don't want to talk to him." Squall's voice was curt and short, and to anyone else it would've been a clear sign to leave the office. However, Rinoa Heartilly was nothing if not stubborn.

"He just offered you a paying mission and you hang up on him?" Rinoa gestured at him angrily with the phone, still in her hand. "You could've at least thanked him."

"Thanked him for what?" Squall wrenched the phone from her hand and slammed it back into its base. "It's just a job, right?" He mimicked her voice, unflatteringly. "Think of it as a job, Squall. It's _okay _if it's just a _job_."

"Oh, don't take that sarcastic tone with me," Rinoa snapped. "No wonder your Garden's falling apart, if you can't even thank the people who are taking time and money out of their day to help you out!"

There was a long cold pause where every word she'd just said sank into the room.

"Why don't you say what you mean, Rinoa," Squall hissed. "Why don't you just say it out loud. Why am I not thanking _you _for your help, right? That's what you really want to know!"

"I just want to help you!" Rinoa exclaimed. "What's so wrong about that?"

"Why am I not down on my hands and knees thanking you for interfering?" Squall's eyes were narrowed and his face was flushed; at any other time, Rinoa would've been pleased to see him let go of his pent-up emotions. In this case, however, Squall was seething with rage. "Isn't that what you're asking? Why am I not worshiping you for being a meddling busy-body, why am I not so glad that I _fucking depend on you_, just like I know you want me to?"

There was a shudder in the office, and a stack of papers tumbled from the corner of Squall's desk and slid haphazardly across the floor.

"Squall!" Rinoa had turned almost bright red. "What are you talking about?"

Squall roared: "You're _not _a SeeD, Rinoa! Why can't you just mind your own damn business!"

"_Because I care about you_, maybe?" Rinoa threw her arms in the air in exasperation; a splintering sound came from the general direction of the window. "I don't know. That might be it! Is that too hard to understand?"

He was on his feet in an instant, the desk chair skittering away across the floor loudly. "It's not _caring_, it's _meddling_," Squall snapped, flattening his palms against the desk and glaring at her. "This is _my _job; it's none of your business how I do _my job_!"

The coffee cup smashed against the wall somewhere over his left ear before either of them actually realized what had happened. He felt a brief spray of liquid against the back of his neck, and closed his eyes as the shattered ceramic hit the floor.

"Maybe I won't care so much then." Rinoa's voice was dead-flat. "If you don't want me to."

"Goddammit, Rinoa--"

She glanced down at his desk, probably looking for more ammunition; Squall wondered whether her powers would continue to toss office supplies, or if she'd just give up and Angel Wing his desk.

Rinoa did neither. "It's not just about you," she said through gritted teeth. "Why are you so selfish?"

Squall said nothing.

"I'll be at the hotel," she added. "When you finally get it through your head that there are other people that give a damn about this mess."

_xx_

Irvine's sweatshirt lay crumpled in her lap as Selphie read the crisp printout bearing the Garden Council logo at the top for the thousandth time. Thirty minutes had passed since the letter had arrived via courier; she was still trying to convince herself that there had been some sort of grievous printing error.

The ink, however, was stubbornly permanent and unchanging, the plain sans-serif letters not rearranging themselves to reveal a more pleasant message.

_TO: Selphie Tilmitt, Trabia Rank A SeeD #045-187_. Yes, that was her name at the top of the page, and her ID number. The letter hadn't been misdirected, nor was it a typo.

_RE: Mission Status and Assignment Changes_. Selphie's eyes stalled on that header, not wanting to read beyond to the short paragraph below. It was followed by a fleet of numbers and letters which her shocked brain knew were her current mission status IDs and a bunch of registration numbers to legitimize her transfer to the new mission.

Her new mission. Selphie swallowed, and the hand not clutching the piece of paper fisted itself in Irvine's sweatshirt.

_As of 0900 hours on Friday, the Garden Council has decided to discontinue Balamb Garden's permit of operations. This action will go into effect the following Monday. All operations at Balamb Garden will cease at this point in time. More information on this evacuation will be forthcoming._

_Due to the potentially dangerous and destructive nature of Balamb Garden's current housing and materials, the Council has decided that Balamb Garden must be destroyed. A highly-ranked SeeD specializing in machine-ops and explosives shall be assigned to this, for a rank increase and one year's-worth pay. The demolition must be done with the safety of all current Balamb residents in mind. Further details on equipment retrieval and preparation will be forthcoming once the mission has been accepted. _

_The mission briefing will be conducted via conference call with Trabia Garden on Thursday, at 0835._

Selphie couldn't even bring herself to read the next paragraph, which was a personal note from her Headmaster. Ellis Janeus had written a few lines penning her utmost confidence in Selphie, Trabia's highest-ranked SeeD and - luckily - a specialist in the areas needed. It was this, more than anything, that had convinced Selphie that the note wasn't a joke.

Selphie threw the note violently onto the floor, watching as it turned over lazily mid-air and landed slightly underneath her desk. She stared at the blank back of it for a while, trying to burn holes in it with her eyes. After a moment or two she realized it wasn't working, and it wouldn't work - these orders weren't going _anywhere_.

Selphie fell sideways into the bed, burying her face into Irvine's sweatshirt and trying her damnedest not to cry in frustration. They had three days.


	6. Commencing System Shutdown

_Chapter 6: Commencing System Shutdown_

Seifer Almasy had been attempting to sleep - "had," of course, being the operative word in that sentence. And it had been working, until someone started pounding at his door with the force of Odin. He clamped the pillow over his head in a valiant effort to ignore the knocking for as long as he could. It stopped, for five seconds, and then started again, fiercer than the previous volley. Irritably, he chucked aside the pillow and stalked out of the bedroom.

"What the fuck do you want?" he demanded, yanking open the door in disgust. "I'm trying to fucking _sleep _here--"

Squall punched him in the face.

He hit the carpet ass-first, and stared up at Leonhart angrily. "What the _hell_?"

Squall spun on his heel and started to stalk off, but Seifer scrambled to his feet, grabbed the commander's shoulder, spun him around, and slammed his fist into Leonhart's jaw. Just as quickly, he ducked out of the way of another of Squall's swings, and found himself with a knee in his ribs instead. Seifer let out a stream of inventive cursing, and lunged.

Squall went down _hard_, with an angry grunt as he hit the hallway carpet. Seifer landed on top of him, the simultaneous and somewhat awkward jab of Squall's knee and elbows knocking the wind from him. Nevertheless, Seifer growled and reached his hands out, trying to get a good grip on Leonhart's throat. _Nobody _woke him up like that, and Squall would have the bruises to prove it once this was done.

Squall rolled over, slamming Seifer's entire body into the wall. Seifer coughed, and scrambled to his feet as Squall did the same. The two men stared at each other in the dim light of the hallway.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" Seifer couldn't take his eyes off of Squall. He'd never seen the Commander look quite this --frantic. Squall's eyes were wide, and he was already breathing hard, probably more from the rage radiating off of him than from the actual exertion of the fight.

"Just - fucking fight me already, Almasy," Squall said in a low voice. He made to swing another punch. Seifer ducked, blocking most of the force with his upper arm and violently pushing Squall away.

"What the _fuck_," Seifer said. "If you want to spar like a man, go get your goddamn gunblade."

Squall answered by throwing another punch. This one landed - basically in Seifer's eye.

"_Fuck_," Seifer hissed, shaking his head to clear his vision. He spat on the ground. "Or we could fight like Dumbass Dincht, I guess." Still no response. "You're Junctioned, aren't you. And I don't have a goddamn shirt on."

Squall said nothing; he stood almost motionless in the hallway, his wild eyes trailing Seifer somewhat.

"I can still take you, you fucking moron," Seifer said, and threw himself at Leonhart, landing one very solid punch to Squall's gut.

Squall wheezed, but managed to smack Seifer away somehow, his knee colliding with some bare-skinned part of Seifer with the promise of a bruise later. Seifer punched Squall in the face; Squall, bleeding from his cheek, tackled Seifer-- it was a frenzy of dark hair and growling, his arms around Seifer's waist. Seifer landed hard on his back, with Leonhart's full weight on his lungs; breath coming hard, he managed to reach out and -- kind of -- punch Leonhart in the side of the head.

Squall in the meantime rained fairly solid fists into Seifer's midsection - "_Fuck you_," Seifer spat, rolling in a sudden move, positioning his weight on top of Squall so that he could punch the bastard's face in -- Squall kneed him in the side, and Seifer answered by bracing one pajama-clad leg over Squall's to pin him to the ground. He punched Squall in the gut, and Squall --

_"What in Eden's seven hells do you think you're doing?"_

The Stop spell enveloped them both, freezing them in what Seifer soon realized was a very compromising and somewhat embarrassing position in the hallway.

The next thing he knew, the spell had been lifted, and Quistis had her arm around his throat, dragging him off of Squall. She slammed him against the wall, a knee dangerously close to everything Seifer valued dear in life. Even _Squall _hadn't aimed _there_. He glared defiantly at her.

Squall got to his feet and made to storm off down the hall.

"_Don't move_," Quistis said sharply in his direction. Squall stopped. "I am tired, not caffeinated, and one of you will explain to me what the _hell _is going on."

"He," Seifer snapped, "punched me when I opened the door."

"Squall?"

"Whatever." Squall touched his nose gingerly, wincing as his fingers grazed it. "It's none of your business, Quistis."

"You woke up half of Garden. Yes, it is my business. Get down to the Infirmary, before you bleed all over everything," she ordered him sharply. "I'm reporting this to Cid."

Seifer snorted. The arm that was against his neck pressed harder. He rolled his eyes.

"You look like you're yelling at the household cat," he informed her with a sneer. "I didn't do a damn thing. Let me go."

Quistis sighed, and released her grip, stepping back. Seifer touched his throat warily.

"Bitch," he muttered.

Her fist connected solidly with his cheekbone. Seifer's head snapped to the left, and he grabbed his face.

"What the fuck was that for?"

"Seifer," Quistis said, her voice irritatingly even and calm, "get your coffee maker, or I will do it again."

_xx_

Selphie knocked tentatively on the door to Squall's office. "It's Selphie," she announced unnecessarily. The secretary had already buzzed her in.

The commander sat back in his chair, holding a compress to his jaw and looking furious. Faint early morning sunlight streamed through a window hastily patched with what appeared to be a garbage bag and duct tape. Mostly, though, the office was dark. She was amazed that Squall didn't go blind working in here.

Selphie swallowed. "I've received orders from Trabia," she said quietly.

"Selphie," Squall said, and she noticed his voice was somewhat muffled, as if his jaw was bruised. In fact, as she stepped closer, she saw that it _was _bruised. "This isn't really the best time."

"No, it isn't," Selphie agreed. She took another step into the office. "Trust me, Squall -- you need to read this."

For a moment she paused, holding her mission orders right above Squall's desk, knowing that this was probably the end of everything -- and then she let go. The paper fell onto Squall's desk; something heavy fell into Selphie's stomach.

Squall reached out with the hand _not _holding the ice-pack -- Selphie noticed more scratches--_what the hell happened_?-- and turned the paper to face him. There was a moment of silence. Selphie watched his expressionless face as he read it, and then flicked his eyes back to the top to read it a second time. And a third.

"No," Squall said finally, faintly, so softly that Selphie almost didn't hear him.

"I know," Selphie agreed.

He set the paper on his desk, and stared at it.

"It's official. I called Headmaster Janeus. There's..." Selphie swallowed. "I'm sorry." She went silent, and waited for him to speak. To say something. To order her out of his office. _Anything_.

He didn't, just picked up a pen and scratched some words onto his desk calendar-- _Trabia call, 0835_. Selphie cleared her throat.

"What are you going to do?"

Squall set the pen down, and spent a few more seconds aligning it with the edge of the calendar. He shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'm thinking of resigning," Selphie blurted out.

That got Squall's attention. "What?" He looked at her, a long serious look that almost made Selphie uncomfortable. "Why?"

Selphie wrung her hands. "I - I don't know if I want to be SeeD anymore, if this is --if this is what they make you do, if this is what you have to do."

"You can't quit SeeD, Selphie." Squall sighed and put his hands over his face. "We can't _all _be out of jobs."

"I -" Selphie blinked. "I don't want to blow up your home, Squall," she said quietly.

"Better you than a stranger," Squall said into his hands. "At least we know you'll do the job right."

Selphie kneaded her fingers into the back of the chair across from him. "I'm sorry," she said again, quietly.

"Doesn't matter," Squall murmured.

"Yeah, it does."

The phone started to ring just then, a loud, shrill noise that set every nerve in Selphie's body on edge. Squall ignored it. Selphie let go of the chair and nodded at the telephone.

"You should get that."

He snatched up the handset. "Commander Leonhart," he said briefly, forehead resting in one hand. He looked almost...defeated.

Selphie sighed, and left the office.

_xx_

Rinoa was pacing her hotel room, spinning between bright, sharp emotions: red-hot angry rage, near-sobbing, and the sinking feeling of dread she felt whenever she thought about Squall. To break up _that _happy spectrum, in between pacings she'd hear the furniture rattling and panic about letting her Sorceress powers get out of control again. She was pretty much frantic, strung-out from stress and emotional upheaval; she was close to her Limit; she was --

-- hearing the 'Chocobo Dance' song in the back of her head?

Belatedly Rinoa realized it was her portable comm phone ringing from the bottom of her bag. Suitably distracted from her pacing, she dove onto the bed, upending the bag onto the pile of sheets. 'Chocobo Dance' got louder as the phone spilled onto the bed (along with three tissues, a pile of gil, a tampon, and a used cinema ticket).

"Hello?" Her voice was breathless.

"Hey, Rinoa." It was Laguna. _Laguna_?

"Hi, Laguna." She sat upright slowly, leaving the pile of assorted crap lying across her bed. "What's up?"

Laguna sighed, and she knew something was wrong: Laguna never sighed. "I just tried to get Squall," he said, "but he hung up on me again."

"Look, Laguna," Rinoa said hurriedly, "I'm really sorry about that -- we had a talk, he didn't mean to be that rude, he's just under a lot of stress, I'm so sorry--"

"Rinoa," Laguna said, and she finally realized that Laguna was being serious.

"I -- I have news for you guys," the president continued. "Bad news. They--" Even the sound of Laguna swallowing was audible over the phone. "They're closing down Balamb Garden."

"_What_?"

"Yeah," Laguna said. "Look, I went to the Garden Council to try and plead your case. I told them that Esthar was willing to match whatever funding they gave Balamb, to help it get back on its feet. I thought maybe it'd be better if you guys had a sponsor, or something. Look," and now Laguna was rushing his words, "it wasn't my fault, I swear! They'd already decided to do it before I even showed up at the Council."

"Of course it's not your fault," Rinoa said automatically. Her brain hadn't even wrapped around the entire thing yet. "How could it be?"

There was a pause. "You know Squall will think it's my fault," Laguna said finally.

Rinoa stared at her purse contents, absently picking up a pile of change and running it back through her fingers onto the blanket. _Thud, thud, thud..._

She wondered what three hundred gil would get them. Not much, probably.

"Rinoa? Are you still there?"

"...I don't know what to do," she said finally, the words bubbling out in a rush. "I don't know what he wants me to do, and I was right, he _hates _me--" Dimly, as she recounted the events in a jumble of half-choked sentences, Rinoa knew how ridiculous it was to blab all this to Laguna. She took a deep breath.

"Rinoa," Laguna said patiently, "you said it yourself. He's stressed."

"It's not going to get any better," she murmured.

"Probably not for a while, no. But..." There was a pause, in which Rinoa picked at her cuticles nervously. "Garden's his home, I guess."

"Yeah." She scratched at her thumbnail.

"It'll be okay."

She shrugged, forgetting that Laguna couldn't exactly see her, and sighed instead, absently tearing apart one of the crumpled tissues. "Maybe."

"Of course it will. You guys are the heroes of the world. You'll pull through."

"Why is it so hard?" Rinoa asked abruptly.

Laguna, to her surprise, chuckled. "What, life?"

Rinoa gave a small weak giggle in response. "Yeah, I guess," she said. "I just -- what do we do now?"

There was a long pause.

"Actually," Laguna said slowly, "I wasn't kidding about the monsters in Esthar. We could use a good -- exterminator, I guess, or a couple. It would be a paying job. An official one, not one through Garden."

"You saw how Squall reacted the first time," Rinoa replied thoughtfully. "It's really not a bad idea, though. At least -- but Laguna, I can't suggest this to him." She realized how defeated she sounded, and cursed her lack of spirit. "I'm not exactly in that position right now."

"Squall will come around," Laguna said, and Rinoa wondered again how such a distant father could know his son so well. "He'll be mad, yeah, but he'll realize what he has left."

_xx_

Squall stood in front of the broken window in his (ex-)office, looking down -- not at the rings of Garden and the grass below, but at the cracks, patched with duct tape.

She'd only been trying to help. Idly, Squall wished she was here now: if they had to evacuate Garden for destruction, he'd rather destroy everything valuable inside Garden's innards. Better that it all fall to Rinoa's magic than fall into Martine's hands.

There hadn't been anything he could've done, really.

The irony of it was that they were all still filthy rich. There were laws and regulations keeping Garden employees from using personal savings to bolster Garden's finances -- put in place by either NORG or Cid, probably, to keep the other one's hands out of the pot. Sadly, it left them all as millionaires without a home. Squall had contemplated simply pooling all of their money and telling Martine to stuff it -- well, in the end, he probably should've gone with that plan of action.

Now...

He picked at a strip of the tape. A formal announcement had to be made. They had to figure out where the younger cadets were going to go.

Trabia? The orphanage? Where was he supposed to send a bunch of trained-killer children? He'd be _damned _if they all went to Galbadia.

He would have to go through personnel files, find out who still had living relatives. They were Garden, SeeD. Everything would go according to plan. Somewhere behind him, in the chaos of his desk, Squall's mobile phone began ringing. He ignored it.

The tape peeled away from the glass, leaving a sticky grey residue behind. _What _plan? He was flying by the seat of his pants. They all were. He stuck the tape back into place over the crack.

Dammit, she had only been trying to _help_.

_xx_

"Kinneas."

"Get back to Balamb," Squall said, his voice a mess of static. "We have a situation."

Irvine sat up in the low bunk, and narrowly avoided slamming his head on the one above him. Fuckin' Galbadia. "Situation?"

"Just. Get back to Balamb." Squall hung up, the call ending just as abruptly as it had begun, and Irvine shut his phone. What kind of situation could be worse than the one they were already going through? He wasn't sure, but he was willing to bet the contents of his bank account that Martine had something to do with it.

Irvine knew that although he and Squall were friends -- of a sort -- they'd never been particularly close; Squall had never really asked him for anything. Plus, Irvine was the only one of the gang who hadn't made SeeD yet. If Squall was calling _him _back to Balamb -- well, it had to be bad.

Irvine grabbed his duffel and Exeter, shoving his feet into his boots. That goddamn _asshole_--he didn't know about Squall, but Irvine was seriously contemplating the merits of Martine barbecue.

At the very least, Irvine wanted to blow up his office. He heard Selphie's voice in his head -- she'd only encourage him, what with her love of pyrotechnics and fireworks. The thought of Selphie cheered him up slightly. She'd probably know what was going down at Balamb -- and if not, at least she'd make him laugh.

Irvine rearranged his bags on his shoulder, and flipped open his mobile phone.


	7. Turning Off The Lights

_Chapter 7: Turning Off the Lights_

_"I expect you to act in a manner that will reflect well on the institution of Garden. All students over the age of fifteen will be given liberty to either stay or go, but if you do stay, we can't guarantee a choice as to where you are assigned."_

_Squall paused, glancing up sharply at the doors as Rinoa entered, her sandals too loud against the tile. His expression flickered, but only briefly, and then his face hardened again. Quietly, Rinoa sat in one of the very few empty seats in the back of the room - she hadn't even realized there were this many people in Balamb Garden._

_"Students under fifteen," Squall said, taking a very deep breath as if it were hard to say, "will be sent home to their families if possible. Those who - cannot," and here he paused, almost deliberately. "Zell Dincht will be taking a list of those of you who need to be transported to the Centran Orphanage. See him after this meeting."_

_xx_

Zell leapt off the boat onto the wooden dock - not rickety any more, oh no, Ma Dincht had made sure her son was handy - and grabbed the rope to tie the boat to the dock. He was trying very hard not to look to the back of the boat, where seven children were gathered, cowering close to each other and carrying small suitcases. He'd tried making friendly conversation on the way over, but not a single child had told him any more than their names. Man, and he was supposed to be _good _with kids, too!

"Okay, guys," he said once the knots were finally tied. "C'mon, let's go! Don't worry about your suitcases and shi- um, stuff. I'll get it all in a bit."

The children didn't move; they simply stared at him. It was almost surreal.

"C'mon, Terra," Zell said, holding an arm out and hoping that he looked more friendly than awkward. "Don't you wanna meet your new Matron?"

The girl took a step out of the crowd. She was young, and still timid. They were all surprisingly young. _Hyne_, Zell thought. _Did we all look like that when we first came to Garden_? It was hard to believe these tiny, scaredy-cat children would have someday been in the running to make SeeD.

Not anymore, Zell thought. The sense of relief in the thought surprised him a little, but he buried it away, turning to smile at the girl instead.

Terra, having finally made up her mind, stepped forward and took his hand. Zell lifted her with a comical "Oof!" and planted her on the pier. Once she'd made it safely across, the other kids were quicker to follow - the attraction of dry land and a new place to explore was beginning to win over their young spirits.

"Hey, Edea," Zell called out once they were all on land. "We're here! It's me and the kids!" He turned back, and saw seven pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly. "Well, c'mon, then," he said, grinning broadly. "Let's take a look at your new home."

They were all children that had no other choice. Some of the other orphans had guardians, or distant family members; these seven kids were wards of Garden itself, and - well, without a Garden, they didn't have anywhere else to go. Squall had put his foot down at the thought of sending them to Galbadia, and so Zell had thought of Edea.

Whether she was capable enough to care for seven children, however, had never really entered his head.

The children clustered around his legs as he knocked on the door, and from somewhere within, he heard Edea's gentle footsteps. The door to the orphanage swung open.

"Zell. Welcome. Come in, all of you." Edea's voice was patient and calm, but Zell was not so oblivious that he didn't pick up on the palpable thread of stress beneath her serenity. "There are cookies in the kitchen; you children help yourselves..."

Zell shepherded his charges into the orphanage, flashing a grateful grin at his matron. "Thanks for doing this. I know it's last minute--"

She smiled gently at him, and reached out with her forefinger to flip a piece of his hair out of his face. The gel had not survived the boat trip over to Centra; Zell grinned a bit as she smoothed his hair back. "It's alright. Things will be alright, Zell."

He nodded; her tone sounded like he was five again and Seifer had punched him. "Squall says if you need _anything_, money, supplies, 'whatever,' that you can just call."

Edea sighed through her smile, and Zell caught something at the edge of her expression -- something short, fraying, almost decomposing. "You okay?" He took a step forward, placing a comforting hand on her arm -- and then a second hand, quickly, as Edea slumped forward very slightly at his touch. Something snagged at his mind - the feeling of standing on a precipice, wavering in the wind at the very edge of --

"I'm sorry, Zell," Edea said faintly, looking away. "I - didn't mean to..."

Time stretched out between them, slowly, to the sound of children laughing shyly in the kitchen. Zell realized he was still holding Matron upright. The world had stopped spinning, and he carefully removed his arms, awkwardly patting her shoulder.

"It'll be okay," Zell said before he even knew what he was saying. "I'll stay with you guys for the first couple days, alright?"

Something changed in Edea's smile, and it felt like relief. "That would be excellent, Zell." Her voice was smooth and calm as ever. It was almost enough to make Zell wonder whether he'd imagined it.

"Let me go check on the children," she said, moving away with grace.

"I'll radio Squall," Zell said to the empty air, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

_xx_

_One of the students raised a hand. "What if we don't want to leave, though? Like, what if we're under fifteen and we want to stay in one of the other Gardens?"_

_Squall said nothing for a long moment; Rinoa recognized the face he used when he was trying not to explode. "Your parent or guardian can meet with one of Balamb Garden's staff advisors to discuss the situation." There was a vague arm gesture which sort of indicated Quistis and Xu as advisors; Quistis' face fell sharply, as if she expected to be swamped with Trepies._

_xx_

Quistis tapped her clipboard idly. She counted at least fifteen students who hadn't shown up for their 'career counseling' sessions that day, and she was debating whether it was worth getting angry at them. Garden was so swelteringly hot that even Squall had decided to chuck the uniform regulation out the window in favor of gym shorts. Quistis just couldn't bring herself to be angry in this heat, especially with students who might be seeing each other for the last time.

She felt _bad_. Guilty. Sympathetic. These kids had come to Balamb to better themselves, and the only lesson they'd learned in the end was not to trust assholes with money. Quistis shook her head. The entire situation was ridiculous. Even _she _couldn't come up with a loophole, and she was the master of Garden's legal code.

Damn, it was hot. Her brain toyed with the idea of a stiff martini.

There was a rustling at the door, and she sighed; another student to check off the list, another cadet to order over to Trabia or Galbadia or off to some local community college and --

"Trepe."

She blinked. If even Almasy was a welcome distraction, what did that say about the state of her mind?

"Seifer. Here for your career evaluation?"

He smirked at her. "I've got a career waiting for me, _Instructor_." The emphasis was unmissable. "I'm just here to say goodbye."

Quistis sighed again, and set down her clipboard. "Goodbye, Seifer."

He stood in the doorway for a lot longer than she particularly liked, looking at her as that smirk on his face faded just barely. Seifer Almasy, her greatest failure, looking at her with somethingthis close to bordering on pity?

It didn't seem right.

"...I've got work to do," she murmured finally, reclaiming the clipboard and glancing around him, hoping a student would show up just to get himout of here. There was no one coming. They both knew it. "Take care of yourself, Seifer," she added finally. She couldn't really bring herself to meet his eyes again.

He shrugged and heaved his form off of the doorframe. "See ya, Quistis," he replied casually, turning to go with a flippant wave over his shoulder, his devil-may-give-a-shit attitude wrapped around him like that godawful trench coat he'd been so fond of.

And that was it. Quistis watched his retreating form for a long time, even after Seifer had disappeared around the corner, and she couldn't figure out what bothered her so much about his leaving until a student waved their hand in her face warily.

"Instructor Trepe? Are you alright?" Her own name startled her out of her daze, and she turned to face the cadet who had addressed her with a professional smile sliding into place.

"Yes, I'm fine." Quistis shoved a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, poised her pen over the clipboard, and opened her mouth to ask the first question.

_xx_

_Another student raised a hand. "We can just transfer, right? Like we would've done -- normally." _

_"I'm almost fifteen!" called another one. "It's not fair to send us home now!"_

_Squall raised a hand to stop the muttering that filled the cafeteria. "I -- Balamb Garden cannot in any conscience send our underage students into the environment we've noted in Galbadia."_

_Rinoa froze; the cafeteria fell eerily silent. He'd said it, finally._

_xx_

The beauty in being a military child, Squall supposed, was that he claimed no real material attachment to anything, and in fact, it had taken less than three hours to shove all of his own belongings into a few "liberated" SeeD duffels and throw them in the back of his car. There were still a half-dozen empties stacked near the doorway; it was almost pathetic in how Squall had overestimated how much he actually owned.

The inherent difficulty of the situation at hand lay in being in a relationship (if they were even still _in _one) with a woman who, despite all her name changes, was still a Caraway and fond of _things _by nature. Rinoa had accumulated a lot more than Squall had realized. She was neat about it, which he thought was mostly the problem as he glared into the closet and swore that her clothing multiplied when no one was looking.

He wondered whether he should pack it for her. Or at least start -- he hadn't really been planning on packing this stuff, and he'd probably have to take a trip downstairs to acquire a couple more duffel bags. It might be a sort of... peace offering.

Squall was _certainly _still pissed, but for Hyne's sake, he was sick of fighting with people.

He sighed, turning from the closet to grab one of the empty bags-- and nearly ran Rinoa over.

"Um... hi," she said.

Squall didn't say anything back, because he couldn't really think of anything to say. They were still going to Esthar together, which probably meant that Rinoa didn't _completely _hate him. That being said, he didn't really do apologies, because he didn't know how.

"Do you want me to pack your things?" he asked instead.

She smiled-- it was a faint imitation of her former smile, but a smile nonetheless. Squall let out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Of course not," she replied. "You always just stuff things into a bag. They'll get all wrinkly."

There was a pause where Rinoa was clearly wondering whether her joke had crossed the line, _again_, and now they'd have another fight, and --

Squall gave her the ghost of a smile in return, which for Squall was as close as he ever got to smiling. "I'll have you know that's standard SeeD procedure for packing for a mission."

"It's because SeeD uniforms are always wrinkle-proof," Rinoa said, wrinkling her nose in a cute little grimace. "I'll be fine."

"But," she added as Squall turned awkwardly to leave the room, "you could stay... and keep me company."

He stopped in the doorway.

"If you want," Rinoa added hurriedly. "You don't have to--if you're...busy."

"I'm not busy."

A silence passed between them. Rinoa took the opportunity to become rather preoccupied with rooting around under the bed for her luggage, huffing a bit as she wriggled back out with a suitcase.

"...You can use that one, you know," Squall said finally, nodding his head toward the bag that he had already thrown open on the bed. "I'm done."

Rinoa blinked, but then her eyes fell upon the neatly stacked pile of duffel bags in the corner labeled _Property of Balamb Garden_. She blinked again, almost overwhelmed by the sudden sting of tears. Somehow, the sight of it was strangely poetic, and it only made her sad. Squall Leonhart was, in many ways, an actual property of Balamb Garden. Garden had a claim to him that -- that she'd never have, no matter how hard she tried or wanted it to be different.

"I forgot how efficiently you pack," she said instead, trying to make a joke, keeping her face turned well away from Squall.

She could hear the rustle as he shrugged. "You know me," he said softly. "I just stuff things into a bag."

"Oh, Squall," she said brokenly, turning to look at him as the first tear slipped away from her and down her cheek. She bit her tongue, so fiercely it almost stung.

There were so many things she wanted to say.

"I'll - teach you how to fold if you want," she said, sniffling only a little.

_xx_

_Squall's hands clenched at his sides as the silence grew, and Rinoa could tell he was almost biting his tongue. Finally, he took a deep breath - and when he spoke, it was in his usual, level tone. _

_"I have spoken to Headmaster Janeus at Trabia. She is willing to take on some of Balamb's students, as long as there's room."_

_xx_

Selphie stared at the schematics in front of her, neatly labeled "B. Garden--2F" or "B. Garden--Quad" and so forth. The coffee near her elbow had long since gone cold, and she tapped her pencil absently on the "B. Garden--1F" page, the blue paper far too cheery for her mood.

She made a little "x" in the center of the elevator, and then stared at the marking for nearly ten minutes.

It was morbidly depressing, she had come to realize, how Garden seemed perfectly laid out for destruction--if the explosives were properly placed, it would take very little force to reduce the building to rubble.

"Hey."

The coffee cup flew in a graceful arc off the edge of the table, and the shattering of ceramic caused Selphie to jump again. As if Irvine startling her so much that she had jumped weren't enough, he now stood next to her with half of his shirt a muddy brown color and two fresh cups of coffee in his hands. The expression on his face was somewhere between amused and worried.

Selphie laughed abruptly, uncontrollably, dropping her pencil onto the schematics, putting her face in her hands.

"Sunshine?"

"I'm sorry," Selphie moaned through her hands. She felt -- brittle, as if laughing too hard would somehow crack her, break her from the inside.

Irvine sat down next to her, gently setting the two coffee cups on the table. There was a long moment of silence where Irvine simply rubbed her back and Selphie drank in the contact.

"How's it going?" Irvine said finally.

"It's -- I'm --" Selphie choked on the words. Her hands were shaking --when had that started? She felt like a traitor all over again. "Please don't make me talk about it," she said all in a rush.

"Right," Irvine said, the smooth patterns on her back never stopping. He slid one mug over to her. "Here, it's fresh."

Selphie took a deep sip. A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"It's like... if I think about it too much, I know I won't be able to do it," she said softly, her face dropping onto Irvine's shoulder.

He put his arms around her gently. "I know the feeling--sort of like Matron and...all that business in Deling."

Selphie let out a choked sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and twined her fingers into Irvine's for a long while, trying to simply breathe. He squeezed her hand, reluctant to rely on the old "it'll be okay" standby, because that was much closer to lying than Irvine liked to get.

Selphie pulled herself out of his grasp after a while, scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands and setting herself back in front of the schematics. She took a long pull on the cup of coffee and finally looked over at Irvine.

"Thanks," she murmured, and bent her head back over her work.

_xx_

_"All underage cadets are required to contact their parents or guardians within the next twenty-four hours, and report to a staff advisor with your situation." Squall paused again, brow furrowed, and opened his mouth again to say something inspiring, or...well. Something._

_It felt like the entire cafeteria was on the edge of their seats waiting for him to speak, and as a long moment passed, one-by-one they all began to realize that this was it. That no matter how many rumors had flown, no matter how many half-brained schemes that Selphie Tilmitt shouted down the hall in an effort to get Squall to listen, that this moment right here was _it_. This was really happening._

_Their commander cleared his throat. "...Dismissed."_

_xx_

Xu encountered Seifer Almasy on her way down to the parking garage, and decided that if it weren't so blasted hot, she would have simply hit him for the hell of it.

Instead, she settled and glared at him instead. He was carrying what looked like three or four standard Garden-issue duffel bags, which struck Xu as odd -- but, thankfully, it was something she could yell at him about.

"Making off with Garden property?" There was more snap in her voice than she'd realized. Funny, that.

Seifer simply grinned at her. "What Garden?" It was not a nice grin.

"Look," Xu began, "we're still an operational facility, and theft is still a punishable offense according to--"

"Xu," Seifer said, "shut the hell up. I don't care."

Her mouth snapped shut, and now she pinned Seifer with what she hoped was her meanest look. "You think you can walk all over us just because we're -- because we're--"

"Go on," Seifer said. He seemed to be enjoying it. "Because you're what? Say it, Xu. Just say it."

Xu clamped her lips together and wished she could light him on fire. If Garden was going to be blown up anyway, Xu could think of no particular reason why Seifer Almasy couldn't be used as kindling.

"Because you're a bunch of fucking idiots," Seifer finished for her with relish. "And I saw Leonhart stealing about a hundred of these things earlier, by the way. If you want to yell at somebody, go yell at the Commander." He stopped, and smiled almost sweetly. "Sorry. _Ex_-Commander."

"_Commander_," Xu corrected tersely.

Seifer rolled his eyes. "Get off your fucking high horse, Xu. In two days, that uniform won't mean a _damn _thing, and you know it." He reached out and flipped her tie up with a finger, the move ballsy and certain to get his hand chopped off at the wrist.

A very tense silence passed, and Xu rested her palm on the gun at her hip. "You have thirty seconds to leave, Almasy."

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

"Something like that."

Seifer made a face of mock-horror. Xu rolled her eyes.

"Now, Almasy. And I don't want to see your face around here again."

"I'm going to miss you," Seifer retorted with relish, smirking at her expression. She drew the gun and cocked it; Seifer didn't even break his gaze to glance down at the weapon and the smirk on his lips never faltered. Xu sighed.

"Get out of here, Seifer. For everyone's sake."

He simply sneered at her as he brushed past, tossing his bags into the bed of a beat up truck that might have been white at one point.

Xu groaned. "Remember what I said about stealing, Almasy?"

"Can't steal what I already own, can I?" he called, hauling himself inside the cab of the truck. "Have a nice life, Xu."

He had the gall to wave cheerfully at her as he drove out of the garage.

Xu waited until he'd turned the corner and then punched the wall. It left a smoking dent, but what did she care? In two days there'd be no evidence anyway. In two days there'd be no one to yell at her. In two days everything would be dented and smoking. In two days --

She shook her head and reached for her radio, dialing Quistis. She'd changed her mind; it was time for a very stiff drink.

_xx_

_The quiet this time was absolutely deafening, louder than the scraping of chairs away from tables that followed, louder than the buzz of chatter that burst out as the caf cleared with expected military efficiency._

_Squall waited until the last of them had left, and sat very hard in the nearest chair, expression unfathomable._


	8. Bombs and Pizza

_Chapter 8: Bombs and Pizza_

Squall sat with his back pressed against the roughly-frescoed wall of the hotel room, his mobile loosely pressed to his ear. The floor was hard through the back of his jeans; the carpet may as well have been nonexistent for the comfort it provided. Without really thinking about it, he traced the vaguely floral pattern with his eyes, separating each blue shape out from the others as he listened to Cid.

"Yes, sir," he said finally. "I understand, sir."

Cid's voice crackled through the phone, making another round of pithy apologies and excuses, and Squall couldn't bring himself to simply hang up on the former headmaster, then chuck his own phone out the window and watch it sink under the ocean. Or the hotel pool, whichever one he could manage to reach from here. With the way his day had gone, the ocean was looking like the more likely target.

"Sir. I understand. We'll take care of it."

Before Cid could say anything in response, Squall snapped the phone shut and tossed it up onto the desk next to him. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, trying to rub out the headache that had lodged there. The sudden squeak that burst through the room as the door opened did little to help.

Soft footsteps crossed the ugly blue carpet, and delicate red ballet flats came to a stop in front of him. He turned his gaze to the thin silver chain around a slender, pale ankle._ That thing would get a person killed in a fight_, his brain pointed out logically, and Squall told it to go to hell.

"...Are you alright?" Rinoa's voice was hesitant, and Squall lifted his head, following the lines of her legs, then tracing the outline of the frilly skirt she wore, right up past a red-striped top and the hollow of her throat, where two battered rings hung on a silver linked chain. He let his eyes linger on them for a second before lifting them to her face.

"I'm fine." He tried out a faint smile. The muscles around his mouth refused to cooperate.

Her shopping bags rustled as she set them down on the carpet, and Rinoa crouched in front of him, smoothing her skirt over her knees. "What did Cid say?"

Squall shrugged. "I have to go back to Garden today."

Rinoa's face creased into a slight frown. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," she began, tentatively. "I mean, didn't you say last night that you thought a break from everything might help, and-"

"I have to," Squall repeated, closing his eyes and marshalling his will to move. He stood up and stretched, feeling the ache in his back from sleeping on a non-regulation mattress. "There's a committee coming by."

"Committee?" Rinoa's frown increased to a seriously disapproving look. "Oh, no, don't tell me it's that-"

Squall cut the words off with a violent head-jerk. Rinoa stood as well, brushing invisible dust from her skirt to avoid looking at him.

"Well," she said, her voice falsely cheerful, "I'll have to go into Deling City by myself, then. Do you need anything?"

_xx_

"There's no reason not to go."

Quistis Trepe dug her heels into the dingy floor in Squall's office and shook her head most emphatically. "Squall, I'm not going anywhere, and you know it."

Squall bit his lip and wondered how much time was left before the committee arrived; Quistis _had _to be gone by then, or else... well, Balamb Garden's destruction might happen one day early. "Rinoa needs someone to go with. You know she's not supposed to go anywhere unaccompanied."

"You know that's crap as much as I do." Quistis threw her hands in the air. "It's just shopping, Squall!"

"Quistis."

The sound of her name -- Squall, actually saying her name -- gave her pause.

"Please."

Quistis opened her mouth, thought against it, and closed it again. _Zell_ would be more certified to go shopping in Deling than she was, she knew, but Zell was off in Centra taking care of Matron and her seven new charges-- "Alright. Fine."

The look on Squall's face was visible relief, and Quistis sighed. She had come in expecting to have to argue the point into the ground--Squall was worked up over something, and she was certain that it was not going to end well.

"Thank you," he said after a moment of pause, as if the words took actual effort to say. For Squall, they usually did. "I appreciate it," he added, for extra emphasis.

Quistis merely narrowed her eyes, equal parts suspicious and exasperated. "I assume Rinoa's at the hotel?"

Squall nodded.

"Right." Quistis turned and headed for the door, pausing as her hand grazed the knob. "Squall?" she said.

"Yes?" In the three seconds it had taken her to cross the room, Squall was already turned back to the last vestiges of paperwork on his desk, pen firmly in hand. It didn't even stop its march across the paper as she watched.

"...I'll call in every few hours," she murmured finally. He blinked at her, then nodded briskly. Quistis sighed, and exited the office. She left the door open, allowing a bit of air to circulate back into his office.

His secretary poked her head through the open space a second after Quistis had gone. "Sir? The ICGI committee is here."

Squall glanced at the folder in his hands, torn between making up some bullshit excuse about paperwork to do and actually facing the council for the first time since they had given him the order to shut it all down.

He hesitated, then closed the folder and set it aside.

_xx_

Selphie stood at attention in the front of the classroom, watching dispassionately as the committee members filed into the room.

Internally, she was so angry she was almost _calm_. Checking the integrity of her demolition plans, her skinny white _ass_. Martine knew she was qualified; her qualifications were clearly listed in the SeeD database he liked to brag about and browse. Her plans could've been sent over the computer network if there really were questions. No, Selphie knew: Martine was only here to gloat.

And she wasn't about to let him. She nodded at Squall as he entered the room, looking alarmingly civilian in his normal jacket and belts. He sat beside Headmaster Janeus, which was about as far away from Martine as he could get. The other members of the ICGI filed in, looking somewhat bemused to be seated at student desks.

Selphie clicked her heels and saluted, keeping her every motion smooth and over-professional. If they were here to see her squirm, they would be sorely disappointed.

"Welcome," she said crisply, encouraged by the fact that she sounded appreciatively like Quistis-while-teaching. "I've prepared a brief presentation for you to discuss the matter at hand. The presentation will show on the terminals before you, and it is interactive if you need clarification on any of our terms. After, we will have a brief tour of the facilities."

_Good, Selphie_. Her voice hadn't cracked or squeaked at all. She resisted the urge to narrow her eyes at them in determination.

Martine coughed, and leaned back casually. "Miss Tilmitt-"

"_SeeD_ Tilmitt," Selphie corrected, sternly. "And please, save all questions until the end."

She resisted the urge to cackle gleefully as she turned to the projector and hit _start_.

The projector sputtered to life as Squall settled back in his seat, resisting the urge to cross his arms and glare impassively at the screen, like he had so many times when he was a cadet. Across the way, Martine looked almost condescendingly at Selphie, like she was simply there as a formality. To his right, Janeus dabbed at her brow with a well-concealed handkerchief. The already dim lights in the room went out, and Selphie's presentation begin.

It was very well done, all things considered (mostly the fact that the screens kept flickering in and out). Squall let out an inaudible sigh of relief when Selphie had finished her explanation, and as the screens shut down, he stood before anyone else had a chance to ask Selphie to explain anything.

"Headmasters. If there are no further questions..." Squall made a vague gesture indicating the doorway.

"Not at all." Martine still looked slightly disgruntled. Selphie had shot him down every time he'd tried to ask a question or 'raise a concern', something for which Squall would have to buy her a drink. Or several. "I'm more than ready to inspect the facilities."

"I'm fascinated," Headmaster Janeus said. "I would've thought the magical backlash from the paramagic rings would have had a much higher blast radius."

Martine coughed. "Yes, that's true. Are you sure that you-"

Selphie interrupted him, smoothly, with an edge in her voice that only someone who knew her like Squall did could read. "Balamb Garden's levitation mechanism is much older than Trabia's, Headmaster Janeus -- it's in very bad shape. And much of its residual energy has been used up in the past couple months-- to power our classrooms." She threw an almost-subtle glance at Martine and the rest of the IGCS, who were following almost blindly. Squall wondered if they'd ever even _seen _Balamb Garden before.

"This is the central core shaft," Selphie continued. "As you saw, once we set this part off, the rest of Garden will go up easily. Neatly." Squall marveled at her calm; he'd never seen Selphie this tense, this self-possessed, as if she'd junctioned Quistis for this particular encounter. He wondered how long it would take for her carefree self to come back -- if it did at all.

"It's almost a shame," Janeus said idly, brushing a strand of pale blond hair from her eyes. "Something as large and marvelous as a Garden."

Squall froze. There was a thick moment of awkward silence that, maybe, only he and Selphie felt.

Janeus did not seem affected by the silence at all, and continued toward the staircase, brushing her fingertips across the wall with a relaxed and almost detached serenity.

Squall clenched his hands, fingernails digging into calloused palms. "Let's get on with it," he said and felt a bit better when his voice came out level, if not exactly polite.

They had made it down the staircase and out into the main lobby of Garden when Irvine came up behind them suddenly, having come from Garden's lower level. He was carrying several weapons cases, all neatly labeled in white stenciled lettering. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, and judging from the way things pushed out the sides of the bag, it was quite full.

"Cadet Kinneas. I hope you don't think that just because this Garden is going to become a smoking ruin that you can get away with stealing all that." Headmaster Martine's voice was smooth, velvet over steel.

There was a second pronounced pause, and this time, Squall knew he wasn't imagining it.

For a moment, Squall almost smiled, because Irvine Kinneas had been caught without a witty retort, and that was something to call the presses about -- but then he noticed the dark glowering glare flitting around beneath his sniper's curiously calm facade, and he was hit with a momentary stab of panic.

Those duffel bags were full of _guns_.

_Oh, please, Irvine_, Squall thought, but he wasn't exactly sure whether his subconscious was rooting for or against the shooting of Martine in the face.

Irvine's knuckles grew white on the handles of the plastic cases, but his voice was surprisingly calm as he said, "I'm making a delivery. Requisitions."

Squall knew he was lying, and he could tell by the carefully tooled non-smile on Selphie's face that she knew too. He owed them both a drink. Only Kinneas would try to steal guns right under Martine's nose.

Martine, however, seemed appeased. "Excellent work," he said nonchalantly. "Good to know there are a few good SeeDs left in this establishment."

Squall choked.

"Nonsense," Headmaster Janeus said, idly, her eyes still on Garden's infrastructure. "Every SeeD is a good SeeD."

Martine opened his mouth to respond, and Squall's subconscious nudged him with the idea that if the Galbadian headmaster said something cliche and trite, Irvine would be perfectly justified in shooting Martine in the face.

Squall cleared his throat. "I think we should keep going," he said, his voice sounding unnecessarily loud. "Headmaster Janeus, you wanted to see the demolition setup in the basement." It wasn't necessarily a question.

"Yes, yes. Let's get on with it, Martine. The commander hasn't got all day."

Squall decided that, if he had one ounce less of restraint, he would have probably kissed Janeus. Luckily for everyone involved, he simply turned on his heel and headed for the stairwell.

Irvine watched as they passed, and Squall deliberately didn't glance at him. He did notice Selphie throwing Irvine a cheeky wink from under the cover of her hair.

"Now here," Selphie said loudly, deliberately stealing attention away from Irvine's explosive duffel bag, "you guys can see where I've marked the demolition sites -- here, and here."

Squall stuffed himself in a dark corner and tried not to glower.

"What type of explosive is that?" Janeus asked, but there was no accusation in her voice - only professional curiosity.

Martine opened his mouth, but Selphie replied briskly before anything incriminating could be said. "We only use Class AA explosives," she said smoothly, "rated 1-4-1 or better. I'm taking no risks with the safety and health of Balamb's citizens." Squall blinked, realizing that this was the first time Selphie had verbally taken responsibility for her work-- but her face was still impassive.

"Those are expensive," Martine said.

Selphie turned on her heel, sharply. "The cost was deemed appropriate due to the complexity of the mission," she said, only one shade away from a snarl.

"Yes, Martine," Janeus added. "I approved it myself."

Martine shook his head, brows creasing, but said nothing else. Squall felt another fervent rush of gratitude towards Headmaster Janeus.

"Only the best," Selphie said softly, and when Squall looked up, he found she was looking at him.

He looked away. Janeus pointed out something high in the rafters.

Squall looked up at the elevator shaft and wiped sweat and grit from his forehead wearily. The ICGI council had left hours ago, a general murmur of approval rippling through them. Only Janeus had taken him aside and said that the plan had been deemed alright. Squall hadn't known what to respond with. "Good" was far from the truth, and "thank you" even more so. He'd nodded, because a nod seemed a bit more appropriate than a shrug.

Selphie watched him unabashedly as he turned in a slow circle, just...staring up at Garden's innards. He hadn't said more than two words all night as they had checked and double checked the rigged explosives. Sure, Trabia had been _bad _for her, but at least she hadn't been the one blowing it up. She had someone else to blame-- T. Garden had been another item on Seifer Almasy's list of war crimes.

She knew that in this case, Squall blamed himself. There _was _no other guilty party.

"Squall--" she began, and wasn't sure where to go from there as he stopped and looked at her. "I--"

"It doesn't matter," he said, and she was surprised at how truthful he sounded. _It didn't matter_. She couldn't stop it. She just had to make sure it all went off without a hitch, without half of Balamb town blowing up in the process.

So, she watched as he methodically walked around the explosives chained to the base of the elevator one final time, reaching to tighten a connection here, check the timer there. The entire device would be turned on tomorrow morning, 0745. The commander himself would set Garden on an autopilot course a thousand yards offshore, get out of there in an agreed-upon five minute delay, and that would be that. Selphie would remote-detonate from the docks.

It seemed so simple, and yet...

"Let's go," Squall muttered, and Selphie thought she might have been hallucinating until the commander moved toward the ladders at the side of the sublevel. This was it, then.

Selphie followed, her boots loud against the cement floor. She put one hand on the nearest ladder rung, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The dim glow of emergency lighting illuminated the core and the ring of bombs, looking very nearly artistic.

"Selphie," Squall said, his voice hard and coming from high above her. "Now."

She turned away from the scene, and started to climb.

Rinoa wasn't in the hotel room when Squall finally showed back up, ten minutes shy of midnight. He didn't quite know what to make of it, so he didn't try to make anything of it, just stripped off his grimy shirt (no longer white, thanks to all the crap that had been accumulating in Garden's basement) and headed into the bathroom.

It was true that a massive amount of hot water poured over the head was a remedy for any number of ills, and so Squall did that for a long time, making no move to actually wash. His body simply refused to respond until the water started to get cold; at that point, he did a hasty job on his hair and skin with the shampoo and soap, groping blindly behind him to shut off the faucet just as the shower went from tolerable to winter-in-Trabia cold.

"Squall?" Rinoa's voice cut through the sudden silence as he stepped out of the shower, knotting one of the very nice hotel towels around his waist. "You here?"

He wanted to make some smartass comment about strangers in the shower, but a) Squall had never made smartass-comments-on-demand into an art form like Seifer and b) he was too damn tired to think of one.

Steam curled out behind him as he opened the bathroom door. "Hi."

"Hey, yourself," Rinoa replied, a gentle smile on her face. "I brought you back something to eat," she added, nodding back toward the bed.

The greasy pizza box from Wendigo's -- he had forgotten that it was half-off night tonight -- easily qualified as the most welcome thing Squall Leonhart had seen all day. He smiled despite himself. His mouth almost creaked with disuse.

"I ate half of it," Rinoa warned him almost playfully as she set down her purse and bags and wrestled off her jacket.

"Thank you," Squall said, and actually meant it.

There was an almost companionable silence as he threw on a pair of unremarkable sweats and a t-shirt; Rinoa put away her latest shopping acquisitions, and Squall attacked the leftover pizza. It was an almost domestic scene -- unreal, really. Squall was on the third slice when he realized Rinoa was trying extra hard to keep herself busy.

He sighed, and set the half-eaten slice down. "What is it?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I just -- do you want to talk about it?"

"No." For extra emphasis, he took another bite.

"Have you given any thought to what we're doing ...next?" Her voice was soft, unsure.

"No," Squall repeated, staring absently at the empty box.

Rinoa nodded, playing anxiously with the hem of her faded blue Garden shirt. She had stolen it one night. He had never asked for it back. "There's always Esthar."

He didn't know how to tell her he would rather blow himself up with his Garden.

"Rin..." Squall paused, glancing at the crust of pizza in his hands, and then chucked it into the box on the floor. She touched his shoulder uncertainly and he looked not at her, but somewhere to the left of her. For a second, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror on the dresser. "I'm tired," he said finally, standing to pull back the bedding, hoping she got the point. Rinoa watched him for a moment, mouth open partway to say something. She must have thought better of it, and moved past him to the nightstand.

"What time do you have to be up?" she asked, picking up the alarm clock. Her finger hovered over the button.

"Oh-fi-- five."

Soft clicking filled the room as she adjusted the time. Rinoa set the clock back down gently.

"Good night, Squall."

"Night."


	9. T Minus Zero Seconds

_Chapter 9: T Minus Zero Seconds_

The bridge of Balamb Garden was absolutely still and silent, and it might have been peaceful if Squall hadn't been engaging Garden's autopilot to send it out into the middle of the ocean.

He focused on that, and typed in his password when the system prompted him for it.

ENGAGE AUTOPILOT, CONFIRM.

Squall typed his password again.

ENGAGE AUTOPILOT, CONFIRM.

He took a second to wipe off the sweat that had beaded on his forehead from the heat on the bridge, and typed his password a third time.

ENGAGE AUTOPILOT, CONFIRM.

With a sigh, Squall pulled the radio from his belt. "Selphie," he said, his voice echoing in the bridge. "We have a problem."

_xx_

Quistis and Xu stood beside each other, both dressed in the blacks SeeD used for extra-formal occasions like funerals, and stared out into the ocean.

"It's not moving," Xu said finally.

Quistis shook her head, feeling the Balamb breeze pull her hair out from behind her ear for what must have been the twenty-fifth time. "You're right," she said sadly.

As if on cue, they heard Selphie's communicator go off with a tinny _ping_.

_xx_

Selphie clicked her heels together in front of Headmaster Janeus. "Sir, we have a problem," she said. "The autopilot has malfunctioned."

She could see Martine sigh over Janeus' shoulder. "Then drive it out manually and blow it up anyway. We can't delay with this."

"With all due respect," Janeus said rather icily, "I don't think that's particularly safe. One stray breeze could turn the demolition into a disaster for the city of Balamb."

Squall emerged from Garden, crossed the hastily constructed dock leading from it to the mainland, and stalked up to Selphie.

"What happened?" he demanded. "It was working last night."

Selphie shrugged. "A million things could've happened. The wiring probably shorted when we used it to move Garden to the shoreline."

"Commander, you need to find a safe way to continue with the demolition," Martine interjected. "Or the ICGI would have to level heavy fines against you for failure to complete this mission on schedule."

Squall glared at him. "Martine, _with all due respect_..."

"I can do it." Rinoa's voice was soft, tentative. Squall glanced over at her.

"Rinoa, this isn't the time-- Wait. What?"

Squall blinked. Standing there in her strappy sundress, Rinoa looked more like a tourist than a Sorceress-- but that didn't change the fact that she was telling the truth. A dress didn't change -- couldn't change -- what she _was_.

"Are you sure?" Selphie asked, twisting her fingers together in a bit of nervousness before fisting them and lowering her arms to her sides professionally.

Rinoa nodded. "I -- I want to help," she said, more confidently. "Especially if you guys will get in trouble for it otherwise."

Squall couldn't think of a way to tell her that Martine could stuff his threatened fine up his ass and light it on fire. Fortunately, the man in question interrupted his train of thought before it had finished.

"No. Absolutely not." Martine's voice was crisp and dismissive. "There is absolutely no way we are giving control of this Garden over to a_ Sorceress_." He said the word like an insult, dripping with venom and rage.

"Excuse me." The clear voice of Headmaster Janeus cut through the air. "But I believe I am the authority on this mission here. Not you."

Martine gaped at her. "Janeus, you can't be _serious_. If...she got hold of Balamb Garden, think of the damage she could wage! She's a Sorceress! A menace! What Garden is designed to_ eradicate_! "

"Martine, perhaps you should think--"

"I don't have to think about anything--it's absolutely out of the question! Janeus, I know you're smarter than this. If the council were to hear of this, what would they say?"

"There wouldn't be_ anything _to say. If Rinoa Heartilly says that she is capable of aiding us with this, I trust her. She hasn't given us any reason to _distrust_ her at this point, anyway, Martine."

The Galbadian headmaster's face was flushed red with anger. "Fine, if you and this fool boy want to entrust the safety of this mission to this...this..._creature_, this Sorceress, be my--"

He didn't even have time to finish what he was saying before Squall punched Martine squarely in the face.

_xx_

Xu didn't even flinch at the sudden commotion behind them. Quistis turned, briefly, before turning back around to stare out towards the ocean.

"Squall just punched Martine in the face," Quistis relayed finally, her voice flat with obvious relief.

Xu shrugged. "It's about time," she said.

_xx_

Martine fell like a brick, coming to his knees in the dusty soil beneath them. There was a moment of thick, awkward silence, punctuated by Martine's haggard coughing and the whispering of a few Balamb citizens who were too curious to stay behind the yellow line.

Squall said into the silence: "Please don't insult my Sorceress."

"Commander Leonhart." Martine's voice was rough and angry, tinged with a furious desperation they'd never heard in his voice before. "This is exactly the behavior that made you unfit to govern Garden in the first place. I will make sure you are demoted. I will make sure you--"

"How, Martine?" Squall's voice was also ragged and red, as if he'd just _now_ decided the 'Whatever' facade was too much trouble to keep up. "I'm not a Commander anymore. My Garden's gone."

Martine struggled back to his feet; Squall noticed with satisfaction that his eye was already turning puffy. It looked tender. Squall had to consciously focus on not hitting the other eye.

"I'll make sure you're demoted when you transfer," Martine continued wildly. "I'll make sure you never do more than guard duty, I'll make sure your new Headmaster puts you on Custodial, I'll make sure you're on--"

Squall scoffed. "No," he said plainly, "you won't. I'm not transferring."

Martine's mouth gaped for an intensely gratifying moment before he closed it, angrily, his brows drawing together in a glower. His face was sweaty and dusty. Behind him, Squall could see Rinoa, turning to face him, with the sun lighting up her pale skin and giving her hair copper glints--

And Squall smiled, a little.

"Commander," Headmaster Janeus said. Squall started; he'd almost forgotten her presence. "Despite this... little event," she said acidly, "I don't want you to think that the destruction of Balamb Garden has any reflection on your career as a SeeD. We at Trabia would certainly be happy to take in a SeeD with experience such as yours."

"You don't understand." Squall's face darkened as his voice grew louder. "I want him--" he pointed at Martine, who flinched -- "to understand exactly what he did. Exactly who he forced out of Garden for good. Who he _lost_. The first full team of A-Ranked SeeD Garden has ever had. The team that beat Ultimecia. We're gone, and it's _his _fault." He paused. "I want that to get through _everyone's _head."

Rinoa, behind Martine, threw him that look she had that clearly read_ maybe you should shut up now._

Squall took a deep breath, reining in his fury. He turned to Janeus. "Sir," he said calmly. "Rinoa can do it. You have it on my honor... as a SeeD."

_xx_

Selphie finished double-checking the ring of bombs at the base of the elevator shaft, and clicked on her radio. "Squall, everything's set and secure."

"Go for detonation, then," he replied, his voice breaking with static. Selphie nodded and keyed in the delay sequence-- Squall had instructed her to add an extra five minutes to the delay to compensate for anything that might go wrong when Rinoa was guiding Garden out to sea.

The bright red LED blinked "09:59" at her as she stepped back and headed for the ladders, scrambling up them as fast as she could, then going at a flat run out of Garden proper. She slowed briefly as she ran through the main courtyard, wanting a last look at the place, and instead telling herself it wasn't necessary. Selphie picked up speed again, and darted out the main gates and over the little dock to where Squall and Rinoa were standing.

"Get behind the barrier," Squall said distractedly, his eyes a little out of focus. Selphie shuddered-- she knew what was going on, but it didn't make the whole telepathic-communication thing any less creepy. She turned and headed for the barrier, slipping in next to Irvine.

Suddenly, Garden groaned away from its moorings, the ropes coming undone by an invisible hand. It was almost entirely without fanfare as Garden started moving, as gently as if Nida were still behind the wheel.

Martine muttered something darkly under his breath, and winced as someone "accidentally" stepped on his foot.

Rinoa raised her arm a little, and made a shooing motion. Balamb Garden sped up, making rough waves as it cut through the water. She smiled, sadly, and Squall slipped his hand into hers.

_That's far enough_, he said to Rinoa. Garden was small against the horizon. The ocean went perfectly still.

Behind them, Selphie cleared her throat and said quietly, "T minus three minutes."

Squall nodded. "Will it stay?" he asked, his voice rusty. Rinoa nodded. "Come on, then." He put his arm around her shoulders and walked her back to the barrier. His team moved aside, giving them space right in the middle.

"T minus two minutes, six seconds," Selphie murmured.

_xx_

"Well?" Garden was moving smoothly - almost eerily so - out to sea, away from the shore.

Xu glanced over at Quistis, her face the same mixture of sadness and determination that was currently making Quistis' heart wrench.

"We send her off in style, sister," Xu said softly.

Both black-clad women slowly, precisely, and in deliberate synchronization snapped into a perfect salute, facing the horizon over the ocean.

_xx_

"T minus sixty seconds." Selphie's voice was calm, loud enough for the Headmasters and assorted crowd to hear her - no one wanted Balamb citizens in a panic.

"I'm sorry, Squall," Rinoa whispered, turning up to face him. "For a second I thought -- if I drove it away, far away, and we could get it later..."

Squall didn't look at her, but his arm around her tightened a bit. "What would we do with a broken Garden?" he said, his flat tone now devoid of any anger or passion.

"T minus thirty seconds."

No one moved. The sight of Quistis and Xu in funereal salute touched Squall somehow -- he couldn't decide whether to laugh at them, or cry.

"T minus ten seconds. Nine. Eight." Selphie counted steadily. "Seven. Six. Five. Four." Behind them, Balamb citizens braced themselves for the sound. "Three. Two. One." She took a breath. "Lock complete."

Nothing happened.

Instantly Martine turned to her, a murderous look on his face. "Tilmitt," he hissed, "this is a direct disobeyal of-"

Selphie's eyes narrowed, and for the first time in days, she spoke back with bite. "Had you _listened _to my presentation, you'd realize that this is a remote detonation. The timer only locks the fuses into place, so that there's zero chance of accidental pre-detonation." A smirk graced her child-like features, and it was scary. "I _told _you I took no chances with the safety of my work."

Martine said nothing.

"Lock complete," Selphie repeated.

She pressed the button.

_xx_

For a few seconds, there was absolute stillness, and whispered chatter began to break out among the crowd.

"It's not working--"

"What's going on--"

Squall tightened his grasp around Rinoa almost imperceptibly, and when she turned her head to look at him, he was staring straight ahead, his posture rigid.

"Squall..." she began, but her words were cut off by a sudden, deafening roar.

Garden exploded.

The flames bloomed upwards from the base of Garden like a rose, fiery-bright petals blossoming around the floating globe. Then the second round went off with a bright flash; Squall felt Rinoa flinch beside him. By the time everyone's eyes had readjusted, Garden had broken into multiple pieces, all of which were slowly being swallowed by the waves. The remains were barely even visible from the shoreline.

Behind them, the crowd_ ooooh_-ed at the sight.

"Nice work, SeeD Tilmitt." Headmaster Janeus broke the silence, her voice crisp. "I'll be putting you in for your combat bonus."

Selphie straightened; for a moment she looked weary, crest-fallen, depressed - but then it was gone, replaced with her creamy smile. "Thank you, Headmaster."

The Headmaster then turned to Squall and Rinoa. "Miss Heartilly," she continued formally. "We very much appreciate your help and cooperation in this matter. I will be including your name in my report as well, as proof that you are a friend to Garden."

Rinoa opened her mouth to say something, but hissed as Squall squeezed her forearm, tight. "Thank you," Rinoa said instead.

"Martine," Janeus said finally, "your behavior today has been completely inappropriate. I expect my fellow Headmasters to behave like professionals. I will be filing a complaint against you, and I hope that you can act like an adult in the future." And with that, she turned on her heel and left.

Squall looked back out at the ocean. The first of the larger waves from the backlash was coming in to shore.

_xx_

"Too young," Edea said suddenly, gasping.

Zell looked up from the sinkful of soapy dishes he'd been dealing with. "Matron?"

She was looking away, a distant look on her face, turned towards the wall which led to the back door. "Is someone there?" Zell asked, putting down the casserole dish in his hands and taking a tentative step towards her.

"Much too young," Edea murmured, her fingers clenching and unclenching in wild patterns. "Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Not enough."

Zell glanced around. No one was in the house, as far as he could tell; Cid had taken the children out on a boat today, giving he and Edea a chance to catch up on housework. Yeah, he knew what was happening today -- what could be happening, right now, right at this very moment -- but he'd specifically chosen not to head back to Balamb for it. He'd thought about it and felt out of place. BG had never been a real home to him -- not like it had to Quistis and Squall -- because he had Ma, and the Dincht family, and Balamb town. It was sad, yeah, and he was still pissed about it... but he'd decided to stay in Centra.

He'd expected something like this to happen, to be honest -- a gut feeling. For all he knew, Edea could be looking towards Balamb right now. Something cold shivered down his back.

"Matron?" Zell repeated. "You alright?"

"It is enough to fight," Edea whispered. "Eighteen, nineteen: they are strong enough to fight; in fact they are made of it, bursting with the strength and power that comes from a youth broken. Enough to fight, and enough to win."

"Matron," Zell said slowly. "C'mon, come back to me."

"But for this," Edea said mournfully, her eyes still fixed on something distant. "But for this, they are too young, too young to--"

She gasped again, and Zell, looking at her face, could see something reflected in her eyes: a bright, fiery light, much like an explosion. He spun around, but behind him was the same calm wood and stone. Zell completed the circle, looking back into Edea's face, seeing in the reflection of her eyes as the fiery flower wilted, died, fell into something looking like the sea.

Edea's eyes refocused on him. She smiled, sadly.

"Too young for what?" Zell asked, unable to help himself.

Edea sighed deeply, closing her eyes and bowing her head. Dark hair fell around her like a curtain. "Too young to run a Garden."


	10. There Are No More Messages

_Chapter 10: There Are No More Messages_

"Laguna, this is delicious," Rinoa said, her mouth still slightly sticky-full of potatoes and gravy. "I had no idea you could cook like this."

Squall pushed peas into a straight line on one side of his plate.

Laguna beamed. "I don't cook much," he said, blushing a little bit, "but Raine taught me the basics. Pub food, you know, meatloaf, and I make a mean stew, too."

Squall concentrated on bisecting his line of peas with the remains of his mashed potatoes.

Rinoa glanced at him. It was the kind of glance Squall could feel on the side of his head. He ignored her, choosing instead to create a second line of peas perfectly perpendicular to the first.

"So cooking runs in the family," Rinoa said, loudly and a little meanly. "That's good to know."

"...Whatever."

Laguna chuckled as he raised his glass. "It's alright. I'm sure there wasn't much call for cooking at Garden."

Squall glared so hard at the peas on his plate that Rinoa would honestly not have been surprised if they burst into flames. Or crumbled directly into ash. She restrained herself from the urge to kick him in the shin, thinking that perhaps it'd be better if she waited until he put down the fork.

"So," Laguna said, ever-cheerful, "I set up some rooms for you guys on the third floor. Rinoa, if you hate any of it, yell at Kiros, and he'll fix it."

She smiled at him in a strained sort of way. "Thanks, Laguna. I'm sure it's all fine. We appreciate it."

Squall's fork clattered against his plate, and his chair made a violent scraping against the floor as he stood. "I'm going to bed," he announced, and left before either his father or his girlfriend could say anything.

_xx_

Selphie sat down at her computer and stared at the screen for a little bit.

SelphieTilmitt, welcome to trabiagarden at GNet, her Inbox blinked at her. _3 unread messages._

She opened it up. One was the daily Trabia Garden Missive, a newsletter she'd founded back when she was... young. One was a notice about her combat bonus from the last mission. The last one was probably garbage. She didn't click on any of them.

Instead, she opened a new note. _Hi, Irvy,_ she typed, carefully. _I miss you. I miss everybody._

She stared at the screen for a little while, and then deleted the entire thing. _Hi Irvy! How's my favorite good-looking cowboy?!_

_xx_

Squall's definition of "going to bed" was certainly out of the ordinary, because five minutes later had him stalking down the mostly empty street just outside of the palace. He hunched his shoulders, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and scowled.

"Squall?" Ellone's voice stopped him, and he slowed his pace only a minute amount as her car rolled up next to him. "What are you doing?"

He shrugged.

"Are you alright?"

He shrugged, harder, and kept walking.

"Squall." Ellone's voice was soft, kind, and utterly un-ignorable. Squall stopped.

"Get in the car," Ellone said. She gestured towards the door. "I promise I won't take you back to Laguna just yet."

Squall did.

There was a long moment of silence. "I imagine you don't want to talk about how you feel," Ellone said conversationally, driving rather haphazardly around a corner and through an intersection, "so I won't ask you that. But I really don't know much about what actually happened. Can you fill me in?"

_xx_

The Timber University Libraries were some of the most impressive libraries in the world, and their librarians all had degrees in a multitude of subjects, with dozens of official-looking letters trailing after each name like a bizarre alphabetical parade. Quistis frowned slightly at the display. How was she supposed to know which ones were legal experts?

Some small part of her brain thought wistfully of finding Seifer and running him through with the handle of her whip. Hyne, she missed the Training Center already.

"May I help you?"

Quistis turned around. She'd dressed down today, hoping to look less like a military outcast and more like a humble student. "I need help with - a research paper," she said slowly. "I'm looking for someone to help me find references in international law."

"Right." The tiny old woman turned to the list. "Dr. Kao should be able to help you. Third office, on the left."

Quistis nodded, thanking the woman and heading down the path that she had been shown. She hadn't even managed to turn down the hall when someone stopped in front of her.

"TREPE."

She blinked, and then looked around the large stack of books now hovering in front of her. "Fujin? Why are _you _here?"

Fujin nudged Quistis' ankle with her boot. "PAYS THE RENT. MOVE."

Quistis shut her eyes, briefly, and tried to count to ten. She'd _forgotten_ that Seifer and his cronies had come to Timber. How had she forgotten that all-important fact? Why did _Timber_ have to have the most extensive library of law in the world?

The fates were laughing at her, she was sure of it.

At least Fujin had a _job._

"I'm looking for Dr. Kao," Quistis said before she could stop herself.

Fujin's eyebrow rose over the stack of books in her arms. "WHY?"

"I-" She shrugged. "I need to look up some hearings on international law." The pause was ugly. "I'm looking for a loophole. Something I can take to court, something that might apply to Garden Code."

Fujin's gaze was hard and stern, but she set the stack of books down on a nearby table. "HERE."

"I don't want to interrupt," Quistis said hastily. She was certainly in no hurry to take Fujin's help, no hurry to resurrect her acquaintance with anything having to do with Seifer Almasy.

"MY JOB," Fujin said with a shrug, gesturing for Quistis to follow.

Dr. Kao's office was crammed into the corner of the building, and the first impression that Quistis got of it was that Fujin had actually led her to a broom closet. She turned to confront the smaller woman, but Fujin had disappeared just as quickly as she had shown up, and so Quistis stood in the doorway and looked at something that could almost be interpreted as a desk, if one removed the seventeen-inch high stacks of paper on top of it.

"May I help you?"

For the second time that day, Quistis turned around and very nearly bowled someone over. She grimaced at the feeling of hot coffee splashing against her arm, and wiped it off with her other hand. "Dr. Kao, I presume?"

The man whom she had bumped into smiled at her half-heartedly, righting his cup of coffee and making an effort to brush some of the liquid off of the stacks of papers he held. "That'd be me. Did I get any on you?"

Quistis shrugged. "I'm fine."

Dr. Kao inched past her and dumped the papers onto one of the stacks on his desk. "Margaret said some young woman was looking for me. I'm going to assume that she meant you, Miss--?"

"Trepe. Quistis Trepe."

He raised an eyebrow, and Quistis sighed.

"Instructor Trepe, then," he said. Quistis stopped herself from rolling her eyes, and instead smiled politely with a nod, indicating that he was, in fact, correct with the title, even if she didn't have a Garden to teach at anymore. "It's a shame about Balamb."

"Yes."

"How can I help you, then?" Dr. Kao picked up his coffee, sipping it as he looked at her over the rim of the cup with dark eyes. "It's not every day I get a SeeD in my office."

Quistis resisted the urge to sigh, loudly and dramatically. "I'm looking for some legal references," she said. "International law, dealing with contracts to institutions like Gardens." She skipped the ugly pause this time, deciding to attempt a smile instead. "They said you might be able to help me ...?"

"Ah, yes," Dr. Kao said, looking absurdly interested. "Is there - is there something wrong?"

"No," Quistis lied. "Nothing wrong. I'm just doing research for - for Galbadia Garden. That's all."

_xx_

Irvine sat in Galbadia Garden's public computer lab, glaring at the screen as it refused to accept his login for the sixth time.

"Oh, I see," Baron said, peering over his shoulder. Baron was G-Garden's resident networking nerd, and he'd risen to SeeD candidacy almost on his computer skills alone; even soldiers needed good techies from time to time. "It still thinks you're enlisted at Balamb."

"I know that," Irvine gritted out. He resisted punching the screen. "How do we tell it that..." _That Balamb Garden was dead._ "That I'm here now."

"Usually we'd call over and have their database make a swap," Baron replied, tapping his chin in thought. "But obviously that won't work."

Irvine said nothing for a very, very long time.

"I'll have to log into the mainframe and see if I can get around it," Baron said finally, rising to leave. "Until then, I'm sorry, but you're locked out. I can make you a temporary login if you'd like."

"That'd be great," Irvine said with a smile he didn't feel.

_xx_

Even the bars in Esthar didn't feel like bars. Squall stared into his drink--it was the first time anyone had ever asked for his identification, and he'd nearly been denied because the idiot behind the bar couldn't figure out simple math. He'd forgotten for a minute that it wasn't Wendigo's, where people _knew _him, as awkward as that was. At least he could get a damn drink without wanting to punch someone in the face.

The beer here wasn't any good, either. He shoved the mug away from him; it glided further than he had anticipated, thanks to the absolutely smooth tabletop, and so he caught it just before the drink upended itself all over Ellone's coat.

He scowled at the mug, and was fairly certain he'd kill without qualms for the Training Center right now.

Ellone came back from the restroom and sat down across from him, spinning her straw in her brightly colored drink. "Don't like it?" she asked, nodding toward his beer. Squall shrugged, lifting the mug and drinking anyway. He resisted the urge to make a face. "Esthar's not exactly known for their alcohol," his sister continued, chuckling a little. She smiled at him, and Squall set the mug down.

"I keep waiting for Quistis or Xu to call," he said abruptly. "Because they need me back at Garden."

Ellone nodded.

"Or," Squall continued, idly turning the beer mug on its bottom rim in front of him, "for Zell to show up with a black eye, meaning I have to go figure out which one of Garden's many orifices he's stuck Seifer into _this time_." He took a sip. "Something. Anything."

Ellone smiled, a little. "It's perfectly natural, Squall. Everybody-"

"Everybody _what?_" Squall's voice rose at a sharp little angle. "Everybody loses their home? Everybody gets their shit taken away from them? Everybody loses everything in their life that matters?" For extra emphasis, he drained half his glass in a single gulp. The remaining stain-colored liquid looked up at him, tauntingly.

"I understand. It's always hard when-"

"You understand." Squall choked a little on something: half-laughter, half-beer. Rinoa didn't get it: she'd _left_ her home. As had Laguna. They got to choose, and had chosen to - to abandon. "That's the problem, Elle. Nobody understands it."

"Squall," Ellone said, with that warning tone to her voice he recognized even through the murky haze of his memories. "Do you really think _I_ don't know what that's like?"

Her voice was laced with it - years alone on a white ship, running from everything that mattered, wanting her mother and uncle and _home _so very _badly_ - and all too late Squall recalled that Ellone's particular power was to _remember._

He sulked into his beer, instead. He still thought he deserved a little sulking time.

"Besides," his sister continued, forcing a little too much _care _into her voice for Squall's liking, "you still have us. Laguna and I. Rinoa." She smiled a little more, encouragingly.

He finished off the end of the beer, and scowled. "Rinoa doesn't have any idea what it's like," he pointed out, aloud this time. _Rinoa never understood SeeD in the first place,_ he chose not to say.

Ellone reached across the table and put her hand on top of his gently. "Maybe not, but at least she came with you to Esthar. She loves you enough to do that. She didn't just turn around and go back to Timber."

_Maybe she should have._ He didn't say that, either; but they both heard it.

Squall jerked his hand out from under her grasp. "I need another beer," he said, and slid out of the booth.

Ellone sighed, and looked out the window to Esthar's busy streets, stirring her neon-colored cocktail distractedly.

_xx_

The horizon just looked damn _wrong._

Zell slowed the motorboat a little, eyeing Balamb Island from far away. It felt sort of like a punch in the gut - a bad punch, from somebody like Squall, who could put a lot of force behind it. It wasn't exactly unexpected: he'd known it was coming. But still, the flat line of land only punctuated by Balamb Town's squat buildings, with no bulbous structure and glowing rings behind it...

A punch in the gut from Life. Life, while Junctioning Eden.

Zell was almost glad to come on it like this: alone, in a boat, with nobody to see him. Because he felt a little like crying.


End file.
